Smoke and Mirrors
by RocketLawnchair
Summary: They were secrets from eachother, some held their identity closer than others. The Spy was one of them. Pyro was the other, and truth be told Pyro was a little better at it. So who exactly IS the Pyro? Fem!Pyro
1. Part 1

Pyro. That was it- Pyro. Easy, short, effective and truthful. It was what the masked mystery did best- start fires and that was exactly what the Administrator insisted Pyro do. Like a real life game of 'Clue' the members of the Reliable Excavation and Demolition Team were thrust into a violent game hiding behind false titles. Nine blood thirsty mercenaries, all so familiar with one another, yet completely foreign. Their true selves were secrets, some holding their identity more closely to themselves than others. Pyro was one of them and the Administrator had advised the action. A word of caution she had offered – 'Never let ANYONE see your face.' For some reason, Pyro had sworn there was an honest hint of concern in the woman's voice. It was true, unbeknownst to the team, but Pyro was indeed, a woman; a thin, fiery redhead with the temper to boot, but to everyone else – a thick red jumpsuit and gasmask.

She wasn't the most talkative of the bunch, but there was no need for words when you had the Scout around. He was from South Boston, with a mouth as fast as his feet. He was, quite honestly, the fastest on the team, amassing the most captures from the Builders League United. The Builders League was their rival team, the two fighting to gain the other's document case –or Intelligence, if you will.

They were in constant battle for these briefcases. They held everything from sketches to blueprints – everything they needed to upgrade their weapons and equipment. It wasn't long before they began referring to each other as "enemy," becoming more brutal in their onslaught towards victory. But was there really an end in sight, or just the thrill of capture and kill?

Pyro could only recall retrieving the intelligence once. It had been incredibly awkward to strap to her shoulder, balancing document case with oxygen tank. She quickly learned her class better suited to defense, specifically against Spies.

Spy, he was next on the team, a tall thin man in a pinstriped suit, donning, what appeared to be, a balaclava mask to hide his identity. He was addicted to cigarettes, too much so to snuff them out during battle. He always had one pressed to his lips, and if he didn't, he was preparing one. He was talkative when he wanted to be, like a cat he did everything on his own accord. More often than not, his conversations revolved around the intelligence case and its contents, never much on anything else. Of everyone on the team, it was he that Pyro felt most connected. They both did their best to keep their identity a secret, and truth be told; Pyro was doing quite a bit better than he. Despite any sort of attachments, Spy would never acknowledge anyone's feelings (barely even his own) and his interest in Pyro was minimal if any. His higher than thou sense of self kept his intrigue to a minimum and focused on the tasks at hand.

Of the nine that made up the team, by far the Heavy Weapons Guy was the kindest. On many occasion the large Russian had crushed Pyro in excruciating bear hugs, doing more damage than received on the field. Of course, Medic was never far behind for wherever Heavy went, he went. The two shared an odd bond, Heavy genuinely caring for the German Doctor as a good friend, while the Medic held Heavy as a great means of defense. Of course it wasn't as cold as it seemed, Medic did like the man, but he liked him more when he was annihilating the BLUs.

Engineer was close behind Heavy in kindness, but his fascination with machinery seemed to pull him from reality. It was like talking to a Sentry, no real response save for a few beeps here and there and a nodding of the head. He traveled up from the south, if they hadn't known better they'd assume by horseback. He and the Spy never got along well. It wasn't a surprise; the masked menageries would slink in at the most inconvenient of times and destroy the Engineers' hard work. No doubt Pyro had heard his cries over a hundred times; SENTRY DOWN, or SPY SAPPIN' MAH SENTRY! Of course she never paid much mind past the 'Spy' portion – after all, what did she know about machines?

Then there was the Demoman, he hailed from Scotland, donning the thick accent to boot. The first day they had met, he had complained about being the only Black Scottish Cyclops to ever live. Of course, only a select few of the team could quite understand what he was trying to say beneath his drunken slur. If he wasn't blowing things up or speaking machines with the Engineer, he was quite usually, engrossed in a bottle of booze and a game of Football.

To combat the drunken Cyclops were the mad ravings from their Soldier. His helmet flopped lazily over his eyes, rocking from side to side whenever he jerked his head about. He was incredibly loud and at the most unimaginable times. He was also a bit short tempered and ran the base like a drill sergeant. Many a time he would stop a teammate in the hall to shout at them for some infraction on their part. Conversation was difficult with the man and he was NEVER wrong. The Scout had made the mistake of contesting him once, and received a colorfully worded, three hour long "speech."

There was one other man- the Sniper, but he kept his distance on ceasefire as much as he did in battle. He was a solitary man from Australia and a damn good shot. His hospitality was minimal and he was brief in conversation. He didn't seem to care for friendship or even camaraderie, it was just another job and he was going to complete it, get paid, and get going.

It certainly wasn't the most conventional bunch, but the brightly colored personalities made the working environment that much more enjoyable. Occupying the second floor of their base they dormed like college students. The Sniper and the Spy were the least thrilled about the arrangements, their wishes for solitude being only slightly addressed. They each had a room to themselves with a large communal bathroom (complete with shower stalls) and a mess hall for eating or lounging. And just like in school, they all formed cliques. Scout was a pest to all, but Sniper seemed the most patient with him and though the man preferred the company of ghosts, he allowed Scout to sit and eat with him. Soldier, Demoman and Engineer hung around in a pack, acting like the stuck up valley girls, laughing at anyone who tried to be like them. They were the masterminds behind weapon upgrades and if you weren't in – you were out. Heavy and Medic hung together like stitches. It was like watching a man walk his dog, the large Russian was so very excited about, well, everything, and the doctor so very serious. If anyone could elicit a smile from the man, though, it was Heavy. Pyro was a bit of an outsider, much like the Spy, she found herself handicapped in the area of speech, speaking a few muffled words to be interpreted by no one.

"SPEAK UP YA NINNY!" shouted the Soldier.

"Boy I can't tell a dang thing yer tryin' ta tell me," laughed the Engineer.

"Ahvenae clue whot yer on aboot," Demoman slurred.

No doubt she had a hard time conversing with her teammates, points only getting across on the battlefield. Though her teammates were cold at times, they could also be quite warm. Sniper had covered her ass plenty of times on the field, Scout had given her a gift on her birthday (how the hell he found out she'd never know), Heavy was consistent in giving great big hugs after successful Spy checks. But these aforementioned checks had granted her a most imaginable enemy - The Spy. There was no reason for him not to be bitter and of course out of these bitter feelings came an incessant nagging at the back of his head. Pyro was more of a secret than he could ever hope to be and for some reason, he felt it picking, like a vulture, picking at the back of his skull. He wanted to know who this leather faced anonymity was

– and he was going to find out.


	2. Part 2

Another day of ceasefire, a mutual agreement between teams and disappoint to their overseer – the Administrator. Pyro pulled the blankets up over her head, from the beginning of the day to the end of the night her head was covered.

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

What an obnoxious alarm.

She rolled over in her bed, blankets tucked over her head. Her hand slipped out from beneath the covers, slapping the entire body of the clock hoping that some part of her palm would hit the 'snooze' button.

Mission accomplished.

Groggily she withdrew the covers, grabbing her gasmask from her lampshade and placed it atop her head. It was a bit stuffy, these brief moments of freedom a great relief for her. She stood, stretched and yawned, relishing in the taste of free air. After a breather, she tugged the face of the mask down over her own.

She pulled open the door, stepping out into the lighted hallway. It was a short trek to the locker room; three doors down, turn the corner, first on the left. She had gotten over the initial shock of having others use the same locker room, same bathroom and showers, and having to awkwardly make her way around them. It took her only a few days to get over it and the same amount to work out a good plan.

" 'ey Pyro," Scout jammed a toothbrush in his mouth.

"Mmff" she shuffled past the sinks and into the locker room. Her locker already donned a fresh suit for her as well as fresh towels.

It was just like every other day, grab towels, grab a stall, and shower. Cold showers were her favorite – that jumpsuit could get awful hot. She shivered as the water soaked her through, running her fingers through her tangled red hair. She didn't pay as much attention to herself as other girls her age. Work kept her in great shape, but due to the immense heat she saved from using makeup, sweat would simply wash it away and even so, she had no need to wear it. There was one thing, however, the other girls her age WEREN'T doing – killing, and personally, she'd have it no other way.

She covered her head, and herself, in a towel, exiting the stall to dress in the locker room. The cold of the tiles slithered up her legs, leaving a delightful flutter in her stomach. She wasn't too worried about the Scout's presence in the adjacent room, he was always so oblivious to the events surrounding him. He had a habit of "blinking" at the most convenient (and inconvenient) of times. She slunk up to her locker, removing the suit from its hook along with her bag of undergarments. It was too hot to wear much under the suit, so more often than not she would sport a tank top and shorts. She knew it was in her best interest to minimize the amount of skin in contact with the insulation of the suit, but it was inconceivable; the suit could barely breathe as it was, adding more padding underneath would just overheat her quicker.

She zipped the suit up, then bent forward and towel dried her hair. She flipped her head back, pulling her hair up into a lazy bun before dragging the thick gas mask over her face.

"Dude," it was the Scout, "Aint you hot innat? Didn'tcha hee'a, we got the day off!" there had been previous attempts to get the Pyro out of the uncomfortable suit, and all of them a failure, just as this one would be.

"Mfffmh hmff fhmmm," came the response.

Scout lifted his baseball cap and scratched his head, "Y-yea, exac'ly," he never could comprehend what the Pyro said, the "mmfs" and "fmmfs" all sounded the same. Once in a while he had a major breakthrough and could decode the jumbled message, but most of the time he left that part to the more patient players of the team.

Pyro exited the bathroom, leaving a confused Scout behind. Truth be told she'd already lightened the load a bit, not carrying around an oxygen tank made it that much easier for her to tolerate the suit. The hallways were scarce, the rest of the team either still asleep or at breakfast – which didn't sound like a bad idea right now.

The scent of breakfast floated through the air, filtered up into the Pyro's mask. The mess hall was quiet, a few soft conversations floating by, the sounds of forks and knives scraping against plates.

* * *

"Oy," Sniper poked the Spy with the butt of his fork, "Look 'oo just walked in."

The Spy raised his head, gazing casually in the direction the gunman had directed. The Pyro took a lonely seat with his tray of food. He slid the front of the mask up slightly to expose his mouth, promptly beginning to shovel food in.

"Ever seen 'is face?" asked the Australian.

"Non," replied the other.

"Odd bloke." Sniper took another mouthful of food to his mouth. He saw everything on the field, knew everything about everyone, but if anyone slipped from his radar is was Pyro and the man who sat beside him. A puff of smoke snaked beneath his nose as the Spy exhaled.

"Indeed," The Spy didn't like not knowing and though the Sniper's intentions were not to make him feel lesser, he couldn't help that creeping sense of inferiority. His fingers slipped up to the cigarette pressed between his lips. He inhaled, withdrew the butt and exhaled. He snuffed his cigarette butt in the ashtray before him. He hadn't been playing this game long, the Pyro's adept skills in Spy hunting had prevented any type of actual investigation. Even if the Pyro was unaware of his presence, he had quickly found the man to cover himself at any possible exposure: when he ate, when he slept – any possibility of being seen and the man had a veil, as if the Spy's intrigue was sensed. He hadn't even heard the man's voice, not even at the breakfast table when he had the mask titled up.

His unbridled train of thought had caused him to consume another cigarette. The more he delved into the subject, the more it irked him. It must have shown on his face, the Sniper prodding him with his elbow.

"You alright the'a mate?"

Spy blinked, exhaling a stream of smoke through his nostrils, "Oui." Curiosity killed the cat, he reminded himself – so he was going to have to be one sneaky cat.

* * *

"Move ova, chucklehead." Showered, brushed and dressed, the Red Scout sidled up next to Pyro, plopping down his tray of food. He was a human trash can and the amount of food piled up on his plate proved it.

Close contact wasn't one of her favorites and the Scout was always a little too close. He jammed his fork into his mouth, chomping down on more than he could handle. "So," he started, mouth full, "I heard the Engineer is workin' on a new upgrade," he loaded his mouth with more food, "Who you think it's for?"

Pyro pulled her mask down, dropping a naked fork to her just as bare plate. "Mfff fmm" she shrugged.

Scout gave a confused look, "Really?" he asked, "Dude, it'd be so much easia' if you just said it when ya mask was up,"

A muffled chuckle escaped from the masked man.

"Yea…that's creepy," he turned back to his food, shoveling more down the hatch, "I bet it's for me," he added, returning back to the previous conversation.

"Fmmmr mfff frrfumrrr muuuru mmff mmmrr mrr?" the gloved hand of the Pyro gestured to the Scout, then pointed to the baseball bat strapped to his back.

"No way man, my Ma' sent me this baby," he defended, "What?" a sarcastic chuckle, "you think he's makin' somethin' for you? P-uuh-leeasee that's a waste."

"Fmmrf fafff ff murrr? Mrrff frmmm fffmm fm murrff fff," it was obvious Pyro was angry, but what exactly he was saying was a mystery in itself.

"I'm just sayin, all you gotta do is walk around an' burn shit, capturing Intel takes skill. OW!" his hands jumped to his face, holding his throbbing nose. "What the shit man!" he felt the blood trickle down between his fingers, "Aw man, I'm bleedin!" He jumped up from his seat. "DOC!" he sprinted from the room in search of the Medic, leaving a proud Pyro behind.

Starting off on the right foot.


	3. Part 3

"Give it to me straight, Doc" Scout moaned, "Am I going to die?"

"Stop being so melodramatic und sit still, zis vill only hurt a little."

"OW! Geeze! Didja have to be so rough?" He rubbed the newly placed bandage over his nose. "Remind me again why you couldn'tuv just used ya Medigun?" he asked.

"I'm not going to vaste a perfectly good charge on somezing you deserved, boy."

The Medic turned his back on the kid, removing his rubber gloves and disposing of them in a hazard bin. You couldn't be too careful in their line of work, everything contained something harmful, even the energy drinks the Scout consumed day in and day out (it was amazing he was still alive). Extra precautions were necessary if you wanted to survive long enough to die in battle.

He rinsed his hands, dried them, and then covered them in a fresh pair of medical gloves.

"I didn't deserve it," whined the boy, "That guy's got a major attitude problem," he hopped off the examination table, an uncomfortable tingling in his nose.

"Or perhaps it ist you zat ist ze problem," stated the Medic, "Might I remind you of ze last time you vere in my office."

Scout rubbed his arm uncomfortably, "Yea, but that wasn't my fault. I was RETURNIN' Heavy's gun. The dude's like five yeeuhs old, he don't know any betta."

The German doctor's eyebrow rose inquisitively, "Boy, you live in a fantasy vorld. Now get off of my table, I haff vork to do." He shooed the Scout out the door, he had no time for his injuries and no patience for his mouth. He watched as his young teammate exited the office, closing the metal door behind him and finally leaving the doctor to himself.

Of all the teammates the Scout was the one most often in his workplace. One day it had been a paper cut, another Heavy had pounded a dent into his head for touching his gun. Though the visits were amusing, the paperwork was not. Just because he was on a team devoted to murdering other people for sheer amusement of their overseer, he still found obligation to his work and continued to fill out the papers. He pulled open the drawer to his filing cabinet, nine thick folders resided within. His fingers walked the tops, pulling them apart so he could read their covers. He hesitated for a moment over the thinnest of the bunch. Pyro. He frowned, extracting the file from its resting place. He flipped open the manila cover: injury files, sick requests and a rather bare physical report.

* * *

Pyro sat outside the Medic's office. He (the Medic) had been first hired to the RED Team, second had been the Heavy Weapon's Guy and he was first in for examination. The uncomfortable folding chairs set out in the hallway were occupied by only three other members; Engineer, Soldier and, of course, Pyro. Four empty chairs marked the seats of the remaining team. They had quite a bit of distance between their homelands and the base; surely they would arrive much later in the day.

"I DON'T NEED TO SEE A DOCTOR!" shouted the Soldier, "THE LAST TIME I SAW A DOCTOR WAS IN 'NAM WHEN THEY BLEW MY LEGS OFF. EVEN THEN I DIDN'T NEED TO SEE A DOCTOR! DOCTORS ARE FOR BABIES! YOU THINK I CRIED WHEN I WAS DRAGGING MY BLOODY STUMPS OUT OF THERE WITH CHARLIE BREATHING DOWN MY BACK– NO SIR!"

"I don't mean to ruin your story there, but you got both your legs partner," the Engineer gestured with his wrench to the Soldier's functional limbs, "And it's only a physical exam."

"LIES!" The Soldier jabbed, "NO GOOD SCAM ARTISTS. THIS IS WAR! WE DON'T NEED PHYSICALS!"

The door to the doctor's office opened, interrupting the rather loud banter. Heavy exited, a bright green Band-Aid on his arm where no doubt the Medic had stuck him with a needle.

"Gut! You vill be just fine," The Medic patted the larger man on the back, "Here, have a lollipop" he produced a sucker from his lab coat pocket, holding it up to the giant.

"What flavor?" asked Heavy.

"It ist a mystery flavor," read the Doc.

"I do not like mystery."

"Zen it ist Cherry."

Heavy stole the lollipop from the smiling doctor's gloved hand and happily flounced off, the painful stick in his arm a waning memory.

Medic's chipper expression dropped to a much more serious one as he turned his gaze to the line of waiting patients. "Who ist next?" he questioned.

The red suited gentlemen's head swiveled to look back at the two hardhats arguing. It was obvious neither of them had even heard the Medic's voice. Might as well be him. He stood, raising a hand to indicate he would be next in line. The Doc nodded and gestured him to enter the sterile environment.

"Vell zen, let's get started," the door swung shut, locking them in the room together. "I am just going to conduct a very short physical examination" He approached the small counter at the opposite end of the small room, there rested the eight medical files of the entire team. He shuffled through, producing the matching folder to his client. He flipped through the paperwork, noting previous doctor visits, "You haff already had all your vaccinations, gut. Zis vill be short indeed. Step on ze scale, bitte."

Pyro crouched, angling his shoulder to the ground so that the oxygen tank slipped off his back, but he did not remove his suit.

The scale's platform creaked as the man stepped on.

"Nein," corrected the Medic, "Your suit."

"Mfff fmmf," the Pyro disputed.

He wasn't going to remove his suit at all, it appeared as though he expected to go through the physical without removing much more than the tank. The Medic found it odd, but he wouldn't press the matter. He had eight physicals to conduct; he didn't have the time to squander on such trivial information like weight (especially if they were just going to die on the field later). "Fine zen" he agreed in a sigh. The scale steadied with only a couple prods to its weights. "My you are a small one" he commented, sketching the number on his pad, "One Eighty Seven, und zat ist mostly suit. Have you been eating healthy?" came the next question.

"Mff."

The physician kept the man on the scale as he lifted the bar to measure his height.

"Exercise daily, Ja?"

"Mff."

"Gut," he marked the height. "You can sit," he instructed.

Pyro stepped down, the bars of the scale tipping unevenly with the removal of weight. He backed into the exam table, hopping up and sliding on, Medic rejoining him, pen tip still scribbling out notes all over the physical form. His thumb depressed the butt of the pen, clicking it closed. He removed the Ophthalmoscope from his breast pocket, depositing the pen in its place.

"Follow ze light vith your eyes," he knew he didn't have to explain the procedure to his coworker before him; surely he was familiar with the test. Heavy on the other hand had had a lot of difficulty with the instructions, his head pivoting this way and that to keep up with the little light. Pyro didn't have as much difficulty. His eyes flicked back and forth, following the beam of light from behind the thick lenses in his gas mask.

"Gut," more notes, "Now you are going to haff to remove your mask."

"Mgff ffmff ff," stated the patient sternly.

"Vell zen…" the Medic assessed his worksheets, running through all testing possibilities. None. "Vell zen you are done," He wasn't too happy with the statement, he would have preferred to get some more testing in, experiments were his specialty, but there was no way he was getting much of anywhere with the Pyro. Might as well just let him go, there were plenty of opportunities waiting just outside his office in uncomfortable folding chairs. "Come back soon."

* * *

It had been the first examination he'd ever conducted without seeing the person's body or face; it was the worst examination he'd ever conducted. He reviewed the file, the incorrect weight, the false identity issued by a just as anonymous manager. Nevertheless, it wasn't the only file of its kind, in fact the Spy's was just as bare, and perhaps more so, the man only tolerating the Medic's game for a total of five minutes.

As he scanned the papers he found there was one thing about the Pyro that bothered him incredibly – He hadn't needed to visit in almost a month!

What a blow to his ego.


	4. Part 4

The day was dragging by at a snail's pace. It wasn't a bad thing though, these rare days of leave were welcomed with open arms and if it was going to drag – so be it – that was more time on her watch. It was only noon and temperatures had already reached 80 degrees. Thankfully the industrial cooling system had dropped the base temperature to a tolerable 70. They didn't have much in the way of shade, save for the shadows of the buildings, and since work was more or less held outside, they were able to spend their free time indoors without feeling guilty. Of all the members of the team, Demoman was the only one outside. Interaction with the other team, though frowned upon, was acceptable on ceasefires – and today, the two Demoman entertained each other in a good-humored game of Football, showing off their handling skills with the checkered ball.

Pyro watched from the bullet proof windows. There was no way in hell she'd go out there – not in this heat. It was days like these that she had deliberately crossed paths with a Soldier's missile or tread upon a mass of sticky bombs, anything to get out of the sweltering heat – even death. It wasn't really dying, it was hard to explain, more like blacking out to excruciating pain only to wake up seconds later in the base ready to jump out and fight again.

"Fff," she exhaled. As long as she was inside she'd be fine, and as long as she didn't do too much running around the suit wouldn't generate that much heat. She turned away from the window, walking down the brightly lit hall. For her there wasn't much to do, she was forced into solitude, her lack of conversation a bit of a turn off towards the other classes and after punching the Scout in the face she had minimal chances of hanging out with him. Heavy was no doubt hovering over the Doc's back, watching him work, asking questions and being ignorant in general (Medic had a lot of patience for him though, anyone on the team could tell you that). Finding a source of entertainment amongst others was difficult. Soldier's idea of fun was yelling at you for thirty minutes then tossing grenades into the air and juggling them. If you wanted to have a heart attack or just wanted to feel completely useless and inadequate, he was the man to go to. Engineer was busy working, Scout had already informed her of that, so no point in trying. She could join the two Demomen in a game of Football, but the last time she had he had yelled at her for doing a "Pish poor job." He took the game way to seriously. Sniper wasn't a fan of company himself and whenever she tried to be buddy-buddy, he had sat quietly, answering to any commentary in short notes, his mind miles away. Then there was the Spy. Still want to feel inferior and the Soldier isn't quite doing the job? See the Spy. The first day she had met him, recalled the Pyro, he had called her a "useless addition to the team" and added that her class was only good for one thing, "a light" and he did just that - lit his cigarette by use of her Flamethrower. There was no way she was going to be "playing" with anyone else today.

After a certain point there were no more windows and the hall darkened just a little. It was here in this section of the building did their rooms reside, each door donning its rightful owner's class mark. Her room was second to last on the left, squeezed between Soldier and Scout. She hated it, two of the loudest people next door to her. Scout wasn't incredibly bad, tolerable at most times, he just had a tendency of staying up until dawn. Soldier on the other hand, couldn't help but shout at everything. His late night TV shows became one sided screaming matches and God FORBID he get a phone call. Midday however, her room would be quiet.

She stopped before her door, there was no handle, no doorknob, nothing – the only way to get in was to slide your key through the card reader and push the door open. It was great security, both against the other team and their own, but the keys were easy to lose if you didn't have a pocket, like Pyro. Usually she tucked it into her glove, but today she found, it was missing.

"FF!" she took it off and peered within. Impossible. She had just used it to get breakfast, where could it have gone? She flipped the glove upside down and shook it, hoping that by some miracle it was stuck within and could be shaken lose. No luck there. She pulled the glove back on. The Administrator was going to kill her.

"Monsieur?"

The voice startled her. She whipped about, hands reaching for her axe; but she hadn't brought her weapons out today leaving her looking quite daft as she groped the air in search of the nonexistent wooden handle. The Red Spy chuckled, a smug grin plastered on his face. No matter how much she wished to deny it, he was quite good at what he did – luckily he was on her team.

"Mff ffmfu," she apologized, quickly attempting to regain any kind of composure she once had.

Spies. They were forever sneaking around. He was like a child, always laying in wait just around the corner, ready to pop out and scream "BOO!" at his unsuspecting victim.

"I believe," started the man as his hand disappeared into his coat, removing something from the inside breast pocket, "Zis is yours," he held out an ID card that doubled as keys. She had used it in the mess hall when she had gotten her food – must have left it. She gratefully took it back.

"Ffffm,"

"I am going to guess 'thank you?' Non?" he was one of the better translators in the base, being the only one to successful decode her messages time and time again. "You are welcome." He watched her as she unlocked her door and tucked the card key back into its hiding spot within her glove. "Perhaps you'd better keep it in a pocket?"

Yeah, pockets would have been a good idea, but she didn't have any on her suit, the only ones she had were on her shorts – imagine how awkward it'd be having to unzip her suit to take out and put away her card. It was ridiculously excessive. The Spy had a point though, this wasn't the first time she'd had had her card slip out of her glove, however most times she had caught on before she left it behind. If she had been unlucky and the BLU team got a hold of it they'd be in a whole lot of trouble.

"Mff…ffmmmfuu fffmf," she complained, pointing to her pocket-less suit. It was never wise to give a Spy your back, even if he was on the same team. You could never be too careful. She pressed her back into her door, using it to push it open, the whole time keeping her eyes on the Spy. Admittedly, it wasn't a smart move to let a Spy see your room either, it was their most private space – that meant secrets – and Spies were all about secrets.

He didn't have to laugh for her to know he was amused by her antics, his eyes and that arrogant smirk said it all. "Well then perhaps you would like me to 'old onto it for you?" pried the man.

A single finger gave his answer. Fuck off.

It was amazing how well one could communicate through the hands.

The door slammed shut, leaving the Spy to himself, the smile of accomplishment holding firm.

* * *

A breather, she just needed a breather. She cupped her hands around the back of her head a

nd tugged. The mask slipped off with little effort. She sighed. Air, ahhh it felt so good, her eyes closed to the feeling. The suit itself wasn't bad, but the mask could cause her to get a bit claustrophobic. It was hot and air came in thick breaths, like gulping down a jug of syrup, it stuck to the back of your throat. Inhale. Exhale. She opened her eyes, focusing on the crude metal interior of her room. Metal bed, metal table, metal shelves – it was so…industrial and cold, the only bit of warmth were her own items – the papers, the photographs..those always made her smile. Different from her team her parents were gone, she had no telephone calls reminding her she was a crazed killer, no care packages with weapons and snack packs, she just had ashes. She was a big girl though and death was a common sight to her, not just on the Reliable Excavation and Demolition Team, but in her previous life before the team. Actually, there wasn't much of a difference between what she did now and what she did then – only the people were alive when she burned them.

She stood with her back against the door once more, wondering if the Spy still stood on the other side. She rubbed her neck as she reflected. How awkward it would be if her team saw her for who she really was, undoubtedly she would be treated differently, like the child of the team; soon enough Heavy would be carrying her weapon for her. She didn't WANT to be the girl of the team, she wanted to be just like them, just another guy, but that wasn't how things worked. Girls were supposed to be delicate little flowers, not pyromaniacs. The pressure of keeping her identity was tough for her, she wasn't fit for that position, that's what Spies were for – she wasn't a Spy.

"Oh well…"

She tugged the mask over her face.

As much as she wanted to be herself, she wanted even more to be Pyro.


	5. Part 5

"Aw man, I'm bleedin!"

Scout leapt from the table, "DOC!" he pinched his nose with one hand as the other shielded it from view, blood staining his bandaged hands when he called for assistance.

For a moment the Pyro sat alone, subconsciously rubbing the fist that had collided with the Scout's face before finally deciding he too was done with breakfast. He stood, removing his trash with him and deposited it into the proper receptacle, muttering something to himself before leaving the hall.

The orange shades protecting the Australian's eyes reflected the shape as it passed him by. He wouldn't lie to himself (or anyone else for that matter), seeing the Scout get a fist to the face was quite amusing. Someone needed to shut him up once in a while. His attention turned to the man beside him when the Spy too pushed his seat back.

"Where you off ter?" he questioned.

The Spy inhaled another puff from his cigarette, making his way over to the newly abandoned dining table. He dropped his gloved hand to the table, gracefully lifting a flat object from its top.

"To return zis," he commented holding the card key up before sliding it into the inner breast pocket of his coat.

* * *

The base had become a slight bit more animated the hallways no longer bare. As the afternoon rolled lazily around life had been restored to the cold, unfeeling environment of headquarters. Much like Pyro, Spy preferred the colder days, not because he was warm, but because no one had the energy to pay attention -it was easier to slip around undetected, but when it was sunny everyone was on their game. The sun acted like a rejuvenation potion to them, lifting their energy and their spirits. He wasn't an outdoorsy man though, never one for activities and games, anything that involved the cooperation and friendliness towards others. Those things were most saved for friends and these people weren't his friends. This was strictly business and he wasn't about to be buddy-buddy with co-workers.

His hands hung loosely in his pockets, thumbs hooked on their rims, cigarette clenched between teeth. The spy business was slow to say the least – he hadn't had a decent opportunity until R.E.D.

* * *

Paris, France. It was a big city, full of lights and full of people, the perfect place to get lost. The Spy had "lived" there for several years, off and on. If you were looking – he was NOT an easy man to find. If it was business you wanted, he would find you. It was a risky occupation and he'd take no chances – let no one close, let no one in, get the job done – anonymity, that was the code and he NEVER strayed from it. Credit cards were fake, IDs falsified, names made up, birthdates phony - it was hard to decipher between what was real and what wasn't.

That was the other part of the code – know who you are. He knew….but he wasn't the only one and for the first time – work found him.

The bar was empty as was typical, a shady little place hidden away from the outside world and accessible only to the lowest of the dirtiest people out there. It was the perfect place for business, devious folk leaning on the backs of other dishonest people. Crooked cops and dirty dealers, murderers and scumbags - wallets like ATMs these lowlifes would pay another to dispose of anyone who did them wrong, pay to catch a cheating spouse, pay for, well, anything. Oh the opportunities there were! Like shooting fish in a barrel, he couldn't lose. Plenty of times he had admittedly accepted those jobs. The Spy business was slim pickings so he would take what he could get. As long as it paid, he was game.

"Monsieur" the bar tender had approached him, much like any other night, only instead of his usual glass of drink, the man held out an envelope, "Zis was left for you." Here no one asked questions, there was no correlation of names to faces - cash only, whatever these people were up to, whatever they had gotten themselves into (or were about to for that matter), would remain a mystery to the world and a secret between the (business) partners. The bar tender was not above the balance and so it was with that mentality that he casually handed over the strange envelope.

The Spy was a slight bit perplexed as he received the letter from the man – no it wasn't the first time he'd received mail on these circumstances, but it definitely was not a regularity and the other thing was…HE went to THEM, not the other way around. Skepticism raised in him as he turned the heavy letter over in his gloved hands. No name, no address, nothing – just a blank envelope. Human nature would cause the sender to surely _spy_ on _him_, to see what he would do – and for that reason he stole a glance about the bar, but no one met his eye. Of course. No doubt the letter had been left in advanced to prevent him from finding out who sent it. Safety first – exactly how he would have done it.

Carefully he cut a slit in the envelope, making sure he was to himself before pulling out the forms within. A packet of information and photographs attached to a cover letter addressed to him – "Spy." It was an invitation - an invitation to enlist as a part of the Reliable Excavation and Demolition team. It promised him a chance to put his skills back to work, to be a real Spy again with great pay and excellent medical and dental plans. It sounded a bit too good to be true – and it was. There were eight other members to the team – that meant teamwork and the Spy wasn't much of a team player. On countless occasions he had backstabbed his own coworkers (of course with just reason) and a team would only slow him down. Unfortunately, he had to remind himself, business was slow and he was anxious to start working again, none of this who cheated on who bullshit - REAL work - and this seemed liked the only good chance he had.

And for this reason – he found himself mailing his reply.

* * *

He couldn't say he liked the job, but he couldn't admit disliking it. Their work was a rickety roller coaster full of sharp turns, incredible highs and gut wrenching drops. It was never boring and it surely had a strange cast of characters. There was always something or someone to keep you entertained, and the occasional weapon/accessory upgrades were always a plus.

His hand swung to his watch, fingers hovering about its edges. It was one of his most valued possessions, handed to him his very first day – a sort of "gift" or prize for joining the team. They called it the "Invisibility Watch," which was exactly what it did – made him invisible. Certainly it aided him on the field, increasing his stealth tenfold. Now, though, he was using it for a slightly different job….just a little closer before he cloaked.

He never considered himself an honest man, nor would he call what he was about to do an honest deed. The opportunity had been presented to him so nicely, it might as well have been gift wrapped and addressed to him.

The card key.

It was the perfect chance to do some investigating, to dig a little deeper into the psyche of the Pyro…and into his room, find out a little more about who he was.

Almost there…. Just one more moment before –

…

Merde.

He was stuck at a crossroad, the Pyro at his door frantically searching for the card key that the Spy possessed. It was here he was presented two options – return the key or not. He weighed them against each other and against his own desires. Return the key and boost his amity with the Pyro possibly allowing a bit more access to finding out who he was. Or keep the key and let the Pyro take the heat from the Administrator, wherein he (the Spy) could utilize the time going through the fire starter's things.

Ugh. He could deny it all he wanted, but sometimes he just had to give in…

"Eh-hem," he cleared his throat, "Monsieur."

…and be nice.


	6. Part 6

Pyro peered out from the slightly ajar door. He was gone for now, the sneaky bastard had stalked off leaving only a wispy trail of smoke behind. The Spy was up to something, he had to be – then again, Spies always had that look about them.

**"ALERT!"**

She felt her heart leap into her throat, the calm of the day violently interrupted by the voice of their superior.

**"ALERT!"**

She threw the door open, following in the Spy's footsteps down the hall. What was going on? She passed the same line of windows she had earlier been gazing out of. The cheery sight she had earlier witnessed had been replaced with a much more gruesome one. A red bloodstain and remaining leg marked the last of the RED Demoman.

**"THE ENEMY HAS TAKEN OUR INTELLIGENCE"**

She felt the adrenaline pump through her veins like acid, her heart sinking back into place. She felt her knees get weak as her heart throbbed; surely they would turn to noodles if she didn't keep her head. She turned herself about, the extra rush carrying her through the base at an increased pace. She needed her oxygen tank, her flamethrower. They were completely unprepared, caught with their pants down, the BLU team had called a false ceasefire, using the chance to slip in and finally grab the briefcase.

The base was in a complete scramble. Those left in the mess hall deserted their unfinished plates of food and joined the swarm. The Medic dropped his paperwork and the Scout bolted to the field.

"MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!" Soldier came barreling down the hallway, holding onto his helmet as it rocked back and forth.

They flocked to the locker room, pushing and shoving, grabbing their weapons and running to battle.

"Incoming!" Heavy lumbered out, back tilted slightly as he held up his massive gun, lovingly named "Natascha." The Medic followed out, Medigun already trained on the giant man preceding him.

Pyro squeezed her way into the locker room, reaching for her tank; she pulled it up by its straps and hoisted it up onto her back. She slid her axe into its hidden holster, lifted her flamethrower from its hook and made her way out after her teammates.

It was a bloody mess, BLU definitely had the cheating advantage, RED doing their best to keep up and take back their Intelligence. There was no strategy, just run and shoot. They were struggling to level the field. With no time to plan, the Sniper had taken up a post at the windows, the Engineer beginning to build wherever seemed safe. Those in offense scurried about, guns drawn and ready to fire.

"Mfff fufuuu" the Pyro's muffled cries caught the attention of the distracted Engineer. Before he had time to react, the red suited fire starter lit up a cloaked Spy.

"Thanks, partner" he waved his wrench in gesture of gratitude before getting back to work on his machines.

It wasn't as easy as the others thought it was – being the Pyro. In fact, it took a lot of thought. She didn't just burn whatever looked flammable, she rationed her ammo, gauged the fuel in her propane tank and used it sparingly. If she was constantly low on fuel she was no credit to the fight. She had a great eye, training herself throughout her time on the team to pick out cloaked and disguised Spies. She knew her team and a Spy could never mimic them exactly. As for spotting a disguised Spy, well that was a little more tough. She had to always be vigilant, searching for the wavering silhouette of the man, the lingering trails of smoke, listen for the disembodied footsteps, and of course - look behind his favorite targets: Engineers and Snipers, neither of whom were ever watching their backs. She knew where to look and how to find, for everyone else it was just luck of circumstance.

She ran down the steps, turning the corner and falling into step beside her own Spy.

"Mfff?" she asked.

"It is ze enemy Scout" he flipped open his cigarette case, withdrawing a fresh stick as he chose his disguise. A cold rush of air enveloped him, the wisps of smoke curling about him as he took the form of a BLU Soldier and parted ways from the Pyro.

Another thing she was good at, keeping out of the Spy's business. If she hung around, he'd be found.

She took the opposite hall.

"MAGGOT!" she ducked just in time to avoid the rocket whizzing through the air. To retain the cover of her own Spy she must dispose of the enemy whose visage he took on. As she squatted to avoid having her head blown off, she removed her axe and swung, burying it into the Soldier's gut.

"GAHH!" he cried out in pain as he fell to the ground. Dying was never fun and it hurt like a bitch, thankfully for them it wasn't permanent. With the aid of her foot and the Soldier's chest, she pulled the axe free.

On to battle!

* * *

Light on his feet the Spy quickly made his way through the base, cigarette case in hand. His hand hovered over the cigarettes inside, the disguise choices running through his head. He was not completely distracted, he was always on his toes and so he wasn't at all shocked when the Pyro fell into step beside him.

"It's ze enemy Scout," he muttered, pressing a fresh stick to his lips, feeling the familiar rush as he put on the disguise. Their company was short lived as the Pyro took the opposite hall, leaving him to fend for himself. Good. Of all the members on the team, Pyro seemed to understand him the most. Maybe it was the fact that the man was always so quick to light up his fellow Spies. He knew them like he knew the trigger of his flamethrower.

A loud whirring passed him by – the Soldier's (the real Soldier's ) rocket whizzed by and exploded upon colliding with the wall. He stole a glance over his shoulder, Pyro was already making short work of the enemy, laying his axe into the man's abdomen. He was covered for now, at least until the Soldier respawned and alerted his teammates. 12 seconds – counted the Spy.

The battle had carried out onto the field, bullets peppering the ground like a bad hailstorm. From within the chaos, Heavy's laugh rang clear as the Medic cried out "I em charged!" They made a great team and were incredible offense. Of course Heavy could be a little greedy with the Medic at times, his rounds to the others on the team sparse, if they even happened at all. The Sniper supplied cover from the windows as the Spy and the other teammates made their way across the grounds. It didn't take the Spy long to make it across and into the BLU base, the mass confusion kept everyone's attention and no one seemed to question the BLU Soldier – or Spy rather.

The base was fairly empty, everyone who was anyone was out on the field protecting the Scout and the stolen Intel. The Spy paused a moment , gathering himself and his surroundings. He knew the base, but what he didn't know was where the Engineer would plant his toys. He listened for the familiar beeps as he carefully started through the maze. He was the only one who could get close enough to destroy the Sentry guns, everyone else dying miserably upon trying.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The machine lit up and focused on a target and fired away. For the third time Scout was sent to respawn. He was good at running, not so well at dodging.

The Spy slide around the corner, removing his Electro-Sapper from the inside of his coat. The Sentry went back to its routine scan, taking no notice of the cloaked Spy.

"SPY SAPPIN' MY SENTRY!"

He loved the sound of defeat, the sentry gun spluttering and sparking, its owner rushing back to try and save it only to find it destroyed on arrival.

Again he slipped out of site. He really needed to put some distance between himself and the Engineer. He hadn't the time to dispatch of the Engineer, only enough to destroy his things and now he was off to find the Intel before the pet Spy catcher came around.

"Yo! A lil help heuah!" The BLU Scout called the disguised Spy's attention over, he had already taken a considerable amount of damage and the friendly competitor was a welcomed sight. He gestured him over hoping the man could cover his back while he made his way deeper into their home turf.

"Hold your horses," scowled the "Soldier" as he sprinted up behind the Scout. It was the perfect set up, the Spy drew his revolver quickly scanning his surroundings to make sure his attack would be witnessed by nothing but ghosts. Unfortunately -

"MFF FFF!"

The BLU Pyro bounded down the hall, frantically calling to the Scout and pointing behind him. He had heard the call of his fellow Engineer and was on the prowl for enemy Spies and that Soldier sure was suspicious.

"Woah man!" the Scout ducked and dodged as the Pyro lit up his flamethrower, directing its blast at the Scout and the Soldier.

Oh how he hated fire. Of all the deaths he had experienced, death by flame was the worst. There was no way of avoiding it either, especially in a confined space, the flames hit every part of the room, sneaking out unscathed was impossible, and all he could do was embrace it. Before he had a chance to act though and encounter the pain, he felt a hand at the back of his collar and was thrown aside. His own Pyro took the flames full blast, blocking him from any damage. With three shots from the masked savior's shotgun, the (enemy) Pyro and Scout were both silenced, the Intelligence case falling beside their lifeless corpses.

The Spy brushed himself off and adjusted his suit and tie. He wasn't too happy the Pyro had busted in, even if said Pyro just saved his ass from dying and recovered the stolen intelligence. Even still he couldn't form the words, they didn't sit right with him, he didn't need assistance, never wanted assistance – he could do it himself. The help simply was not welcomed. So instead he slung the briefcase over his back and headed off before the Pyro had a chance to turn around.

* * *

She wasn't disappointed, she wasn't angry, she didn't care. She was used to being neglected as a part of the team, her offerings of credit swept under the rug. The Sniper was a more valued player at times. Like the Scout had said, all she did was walk and burn, the fire did all the work. So she wasn't surprised that the Spy had slipped off without so much as a 'thanks,' and honestly, as long as they had their Intel back she was OK with it.

As the others on her team patted each other on the backs for their good work, she sat quietly. Everyone was so excited, but she just didn't feel the same. Of course she was happy – they had won hadn't they? Something in her just wasn't letting that joyous feeling out. The victorious Spy even had the audacity not to show up, brushing it off as frivolous saying that there was nothing to cheer about.

"Dude, didja see when I bashed that Heavy's head in?" Scout made a swing with an imaginary bat.

"Is good," Heavy laughed, "Scout is credit to team," he patted the boy on the back, though a pat for a Heavy was a punch for a Scout. The boy winced slightly. "Why is leeetel Pyro sad?" Heavy asked looking over at the slightly dejected fire starter.

"Hm?" she looked up, "Fffmf," she shrugged.

"You did good out there," Engineer piped up, "That Spy didn't know what hittem," he laughed slapping his knee as he recalled the fried Sneak.

She felt a small smile crease her lips, it was nice to know some people cared, too bad the Spy wasn't as kind as the others. Even though she was a bit of an outcast, she was still knit into the group. It was all in good fun and they all appreciated the others' presence, but the Spy didn't want to be a part of any of that and often disappeared at gatherings, if it wasn't discussions of the Intelligence, he wasn't staying. It was stupid to bring up, no one knew where he went or what he did, it was like he didn't exist outside the battlefield. What exactly did he have to do, where exactly was he going? It was stupid to even ask, but the questions were recurring ones, as if maybe they would be answered the next time they popped up.

'Aghh - Forget him,' she told herself. No need to get all worked up about a stupid Spy. She rested her head in her hand and listened to the others talk. What mattered was that she was here and she had nowhere else to be and nowhere she'd rather be.


	7. Part 7

They had won, but to the Spy the taste was bitter sweet. That feeling of being second-rate was creeping up on him again. Was he getting rusty or was it just pure (unlucky) coincidence? He dropped the briefcase back on the desk, his attention miles away from the cheers and excitement of his teammates.

"Dude, aintchu pumped?" Scout butted his presence in, "We totally massacred them!" he pounded his fist into his palm, "Those chuckleheads di'int stand a chance!" He looked up at the Spy who's face read … well…he didn't know what it read, but it sure wasn't as excited as the rest of the team, in fact it was rather blank. "Hey man, c'mon, you should be happy, bout time you were some credit to this team," he laughed.

Something sparked behind the mysterious man's eyes and instantly Scout regretted the latter of his statement.

"Uh yanno, cause like…" he fidgeted uncomfortably, looking for some kind of saving grace, "like…fuck dude I dunno what you do, you're always fuckin creepin around," not really the best choice of words, nor anything redeeming.

The Spy took a step forward, removing his cigarette and towering over the boy. It was nerve-racking to say the least.

"Ah yes of course," he said, "Let us not forget 'ow 'elpful ze Scout is. Remember boy, if it wasn't for me you'd still be getting killed by the Engineer's toys."

"I was tryin' to outrun it," Scout mumbled, "I dun it before," he shuffled his feet awkwardly, looking down at them to avoid the Spy's eyes.

"Hmm. Of course," the Spy flicked his cigarette at the boy's feet and stubbed it out with his heel. "Next time I will keep zat in mind." He brushed by his younger teammate.

"Hey! Where ya goin?" The Scout turned, gaining a bit of his confidence back now that the man wasn't hovering over him.

The Spy didn't answer, just casually strode out of the room. It wasn't unusual for him to ignore their occasional victory parties, he had his reasons – they just never quite knew what those reasons were. He could care less for their company (or their help for that matter) and if he were to celebrate he'd prefer it alone – though there was never a reason for celebration in his world, only more work to be done. Once one job was finished it was on to the next one. Why should they celebrate if in a day they'd be at each other again? Plus….there was that feeling he was desperately trying to suppress. If it wasn't for the Pyro they might not have won at all. Out of habit he found himself opening his cigarette case once more. Empty. His face contorted into an expression of slight displeasure. What an inconvenience. He folded it shut and dropped it back into his pocket. He had more in his locker.

He jammed his hands into his pockets as he rerouted his trip. He mulled over the battle for what had to be the fifteenth time today. It had been the first time the Pyro had really saved his ass, usually the masked man was running rampant, torching up all flammable flesh without a concern towards what was happening to his teammates. The fact that the Spy had been so close to the Intel must have been the reason he stepped in. But there was something in his actions that made the help seem more – earnest, like the Pyro actually cared what happened to him. His hand ran over the top of his head and to the back of his neck.

He needed a cigarette…and a shower….

* * *

The locker room was empty and oddly quiet as compared to earlier. Just hours ago they were all pushing and shoving to get to their cubbies, which now were bare save for a few personal items here and there. The Spy removed his suit, laying it out neatly for when he finished his wash. His cigarette case, watch, revolver, gloves and mask went in the top compartment of the open locker. He wasn't aware of it, but he and the Pyro had a lot in common with their rituals.

He ducked into the showers.

"Agh! Sacrebleu," he jerked the faucet's handle over to the left. It was freezing, who had set the temperature so low? The water warmed up quickly, steam soon filling the stalls and creeping up on the glass by the sinks.

He ran his fingers through his hair, it wasn't often he got to do that.

To say the least he was a bit perplexed about the Pyro's protective gesture. Even though he was thankful for the help he couldn't quite say it out loud. He felt a tinge of pain as the water trickled down his back. He reached around seeing by touch. The effort wasn't entirely effective on the Pyro's part; he found he had still been burned. It was a hell of a lot better than being dead though. It was small; nothing to bother the Medic with.

He hadn't noticed the similarities between their habits (he and the Pyro), but they were there: The Spy always tried to finagle ways around unwanted contact when he was most vulnerable. Even after his shower he had pulled the towel over his head, covering his hair and shadowing his face. They both desperately tried to keep their identities close to them. They were the only ones they could trust with them. Every little bit of cover helped.

Once he was certain the room was still clear, he stepped out from behind the shower's curtain. He held the towel that was at his waist, not trusting it to stay on its own as he stepped out. His back was a bit more sensitive now after the shower and the towel irritated it even more. He couldn't remember getting burned, the adrenaline had been pumping through his body causing him to go blind to all sense of feeling – but he felt it now. He tugged the towel from his head and wiped the condensation from the mirror over the sink. He contorted to see the burn in the reflection. It wasn't bad at all, still hurt like a bitch. He looked up at himself. His face looked bare without the mask, the mystery and anonymity completely gone. He didn't like it. His brow furrowed as his eyes caught sight of something just over his shoulder.

What the hell…

He turned around to challenge the existence of what he'd seen. Like a ghost he half expected what he'd seen to have just been a mere trick of the light and disappear when he about faced. It didn't. There it stood plain as day. He really couldn't believe it. Maybe it was a prank, maybe it really belonged to him, either way there it stood…

A purse.


	8. Part 8

_Author's Note: For anyone who is interested I started drawing out the story at deviantart under the username: TheShortHorse it starts differently, but will follow the same basic storyline X_x Next chapter will be much longer! Promise!_

As the night drew in to a close the team slowly began to separate. Their victory celebration, though sweet, was short lived. Battling was tiring, even the Scout was yawning by the time the sun had fallen. Soldier had been the first to stand, shouting about tomorrow's coming battle and about how they all needed their rest. He played the drill sergeant roll quite often, and played it well. No one ever seemed to question him or argue back, though it was more likely due to the fact that there was no way you could win. After about another hour or so the group had shrunk to just four and soon the last were saying their goodnights and heading to their rooms.

Pyro could feel the muscles in her back tense as she dropped the near empty tank in the just as empty locker room. Even when the supply was completely drained the tank was still heavy. She exhaled heavily, rolling her shoulders to relieve some of the pain. This was her favorite part of the day though, dropping that tank and being able to take the suit off. She had already stopped by her room to pick up her night wear. It was always a hassle at the end of the night, but it was well worth it. She unzipped her suit letting the cold air touch her hot flesh. Like an ice bath on a hot summer day, it was incredibly relieving. She pulled off the dirty suit, rolling it into a ball and then quickly tossing it down the laundry chute. True she had gotten lazier with her secrecy, but she had come to know her teammates schedules so well. She dressed quickly, ridding herself of the unclean clothes cold with sweat and dirtied with blood. Dressing was always awkward with the gasmask, especially when pulling her night time shirt over her head. The same emblem that donned her suit sleeves decorated the front of her shirt. The long sleeved shirt was a little on the large side for her, but it helped to hide her more defining features. Even still, her teammates made fun of her, she was pale and thin something they couldn't really believe seeing as how unflattering the Pyro suit was on her. Once she had completely dressed she back tracked to the sinks, pulling her mask up over her mouth so she could brush her teeth. She watched herself in the mirror. It was always so odd to see her "face," like a bug's head had been grafted on in place of her own. She had become so used to seeing the round goggle eyes and leathery face that seeing her own reflection was like looking at a stranger.

She spit.

She tapped her brush off on the sink corner and returned it to its holster. She wiped her mouth and yanked the mask back down. She couldn't wait to get to bed.

She left the locker room and headed back down the hall to her room. It was always so eerie walking around at night, only half of the hall's lights were lit the silence pierced by the soft beeping of the Engineer's Sentry gun. Usually they had no use for it, but every so often a BLU team member would think themselves sly and try to sneak in, only to be gunned down immediately. It was never in the same place, the Sentry, and many a time Pyro had accidentally stumbled upon it and scared herself. Tonight it sat between two vending machines. She watched as she passed it by, but the machine took no notice in her.

It didn't take her long at all to make it to her room. The Soldier's TV was turned up all the way, he himself was probably sleeping, Scout's room on the other hand was quiet. Take what you can get – beggars can't be choosers. She swiped her card key, the door's lock clicked and she pushed the door open.

She closed the door.

"Finally," she muttered to herself. She had almost pulled her mask off when she heard a most familiar sound –

"Eh-hem."

She whipped about, pressing her back to her door. "What the fuck!" Except it came out more like "Wot ffufok." It couldn't be – she blinked hard hoping it was just her mind playing tricks, but when she opened her eyes- The Spy casually sat atop her desk, one leg crossed over the other. He grinned.

She wasn't quite sure how to react. She could feel her heart pound, her hands clutched over her chest. There was no way of playing it off, he had frightened her. What's worse was he had gotten her at a most helpless time. She wasn't dressed for work, she was dressed for bed, but the Spy was suave as ever. She felt her chest rise and fall with her heavy breaths, the same words running through her head 'What the fuck?'

The Spy stood and straightened himself. It was then that she could see his hand resting on something, her purse. Though he couldn't see her eyes from behind the lenses, he knew she saw it. It was the leverage he needed in solving the mystery.

'Oh no,' she could feel him staring her down as she focused on the bag, it sent shivers down her spine. She wished she hadn't changed quite yet, it made her feel naked, like he could see right through her – and he could.

"Uh, W-what do you want?" she asked, trying her best to calm herself, even through her mask the muffled words sounded nervous. It wasn't smart, but she couldn't help it. Spies thrived off of it and she had made the mistake of letting her guard down.

The smile widened, "We're going to 'ave a talk."


	9. Part 9

Pyro sat across from the Spy, the intimidation and awkwardness of it all had her wringing the bottom of her shirt nervously. Beneath the table the Spy couldn't see, but the raised shoulders on his counterpart admitted how vulnerable he (The Pyro) felt. The Spy tapped a box of cigarettes on his palm, flipped open the lid then pulled a cigarette. He leaned forward, holding it to his lips as he raised his lighter with the other hand and lit it.

The Pyro watched him; it was nerve wracking waiting for the man to speak. He was doing it on purpose, dragging this out longer than need be. Why couldn't he just come out and say what he wanted? She let out a nervous sigh, hoping to relieve a bit of her nerves. Not working.

The Spy pocketed the light and returned his gaze to the Pyro. Between them sat the purse, not so much a purse, but close enough, a light pink bag with a daisy drawn across its front – yeah, close enough. There was no denying it was hers, she had that opportunity when he first showed her and she let it pass her by. Now she had to face it.

The Spy breathed in, removed the cigarette and exhaled. Normally the Pyro wouldn't condone smoking in her room, but she really couldn't tell him no, instead she wrinkled her nose behind her mask, thankfully it filtered the scent. The Spy put one elbow on the table, resting his chin on the back of his hand, the other holding his cigarette loosely as he eyed her. The smoke curled around his fingers, slithering up to the ceiling.

"You 'ave nozing to be nervous about" the Spy spoke. It wasn't enough though to relax the tensed Pyro, "Cigarette?" he offered with a gesture of his hand. The fire starter kindly declined with a simple shake of the head. Fine. More for him.

"Whout duuyu uont?" the Pyro pressed, he sure was taking his time here and no comments or cigarettes were going to ease her.

"I assume ze bag is yours" started the spy, pausing and allowing time for a response, "I will take your silence as a yes. It's an interesting item, one I would not expect to find in zee locker room"

"Yuu ddntcuff tu talfkamout myubgg" Pyro interrupted, "Wddyuwnt?"

"Very well," He breathed in another puff of smoke, letting it sit in his lungs for a moment as he collected his thoughts. "Besides myself you are zee only person on zee team who feels it necessary to hide zeir identity. Zee Engineer, zee Soldier, everyone has shown zemselves at one point or anozer. Except – you." He pointed at her with his first and second fingers, cigarette held between the two.

"What I don't understand is why you feel zee need to keep your identity a secret. You are certainly not a Spy. Even now you are wearing your mask, even zo you are going to bed"

The Pyro wrung her hands together under the table, squeezing and intertwining, it was all she could do to alleviate her nerves and keep herself focused. "Iff mmfnt aff eefy aff fuu fink" Her stomach flipped over every time he made eye contact, despite the fact the Spy could not see her eyes, "Iff I ffow - yuu wuol fink dffrnf ofmhh"

"Different?" the Spy mulled the word over, "Monsieur, 'ow you look could never take away what you 'ave done for ze team" he tapped a gloved finger to the table for emphasis, "…ehh… and what you 'ave done for me" he offered

"Iff fafft a fnk yuu?"

"Perhaps"

Her heart fluttered, she had never expected a thank you from the Spy. Even though she knew the cards he was playing, she couldn't help but become a little more comfortable, the words having raised her spirits, replacing that feeling of nervousness with that of excitement, if only just for a moment. If she hadn't been hiding herself for the past couple of months she would have removed her mask right then and there, but she suppressed the feeling. She'd let him continue.

"I 'ave 'ad to 'ide my identity for almost thirty years now," the Spy continued, "It is a 'eavy burden, I am offering you ze chance to let someone in. Sometimes it is easier when you 'ave someone to talk to."

Was he being honest or just fooling her? It was getting hard to decipher. For all the months she hunted Spies, learned their ways and their tricks, she still had trouble reading their expressions and words. Everything was two-faced, but sometimes…he was just too good. She felt the muscles in her gut constrict briefly, the dilemma of to-show or not-to-show was beginning to fall to one side.

"hlff on…." Her brow furrowed beneath her mask, "uu alruhy knww dnf yuu?"

The Spy smirked, "I 'ave a 'unch"

"Thnn whhy duu yuu neef tuu fee?"

"Just because you zink, doesn't mean you know. It wouldn't be ze first time I was wrong"

Truth or lies? Again she couldn't tell. From what she knew the Spy was always right, he made a point of that.

"…yuu haff tuu prmfff-"

"Please, Monsieur" he held up a hand, "I promise. I 'ave seen my own friends betray me, my "coworkers" backstab me, zere is nozing beneath your mask zat will shock me."

She still wasn't sure of herself, or him for that matter. Whether he was just lying to get the truth or truly being honest was still a mystery. Either way he was right about one thing, she did want someone to talk to, from behind a mask she could barely get half her statements across, showing the Spy meant having someone to REALLY talk to. What did she have to lose anyway? Even if he was lying, which wouldn't be much of a surprise to anyone, he wouldn't tell her team. If the Spy knew her secret there was no way he'd let anyone else in, he would know something the others did not and that's the kind of thing Spies loved. True he was a mendacious scoundrel, but he wasn't a complete asshole. Something in his voice had convinced her…maybe this was right.

She exhaled heavily, letting her shoulders relax. Her hands were cold and her fingertips prickled, she found them on the back of her mask, gripping at its crease. This was it, no turning back once it was off. She gave it a tug and for the first time – she saw the Spy clearly. No goggles, no mask, just her.

"See," the spy leaned back in his chair, "Zat wasn't so 'ard, now was it?" He took another drag of his cigarette as he let the girl's image sink in. She was incredibly average, nothing like he really expected (save for the red hair), probably around the Scout's age and with no scar tissue to be seen. Truly he'd anticipated some sort of burn marks, but her face was only specked with freckles. She didn't look like a killer at all, yet he had witnessed her earlier burying an axe into the gut of an enemy Soldier. She was just as deadly as he.

She frowned, "What?" she couldn't quite read what he was thinking, but she assumed he was studying her, taking everything in to that photographic memory of his. Her voice wasn't incredibly girly either, it was obvious she had worked with chemicals and fire for quite some time, rather than being a soft girlish voice it was a bit rough, not manly, but not girly either, the kind of voice you'd hear when you first woke up.

"Might I ask," the Spy began again, "Why you joined in ze first place?"

"What?" she repeated the word only the inflection was different.

"You knew from ze start it was an all male team, yet you still joined."

"Oh..hm…I supposed…I wanted to" Pyro admitted, "The pay was more than anything I would make in three years and it sounded like fun." She shrugged, "Hiding the fact that I was the only girl seemed like a small price to pay. I'm sure I'm not the only one with that reason" her eyes flicked up to his, locking briefly before she uneasily looked to the side. He was so serious.

"Why not show zee team?"

"Because girls don't kill," Pyro defended, "girls are supposed to pick flowers and dance and wear dresses, not murder people. If I told them I was a girl they'd treat me like I couldn't do anything."

"But you've already proven zat you are credit to zee team"

"True, but things don't really work as smoothly as you think. Even at my old job people were skeptical of my abilities. I had to fight to get hired there. RED saw something in me that no one else did, all that mattered was that I could do the job, they didn't care about anything else.

Face it, we don't exactly have a mature team…."

Hesitation..

"It's getting late…" she muttered hoping for some sort of escape. She didn't want to go on and on about her past or why she did what she did. It sounded stupid when she put it into words. Point was, she just didn't feel comfortable with herself or her team.

There was a long silence before the Spy finally broke it.

"Oui" he accepted her diversion and stood, "I suggest if you want to continue zis charade you will do a better job of 'iding your things" he gestured to the bag left on the table, "After what you did to zee Scout today I'm sure he would love to find zis." He made for the door.

"Uh, Spy" Pyro stood, hand raised slightly pointing as if to make one more comment. He held the door, head tilted vaguely, but not exactly looking back over his shoulder. "I've spent the last couple of months hunting you guys…I know you just wanted to find out…but….Thank you." He was still for a moment,

"Bonne nuit."


	10. Part 10

"RISE AND SHINE MAGGOTS!"

Pyro was violently awoken from her sleep when the Soldier made his rounds banging his shovel on each of their doors. She lay beneath her covers for a moment, letting herself come fully aware. She knew she'd never fall back asleep if she tried, but maybe she could just lay there for a moment.

"REPORT TO THE INTEL ROOM AT 0500 HOURS FOR DEBRIEFING!"

Nope. Not happening.

She turned over, making a hole in her covers to look out at her room. Wait a minute, did he say 0500 hours? She looked at her clock, 4:01 a.m.

"Ugh, what the fuck Soldier," she grumbled into the sheets, burying herself in them once more. She could hear the groans and protests from her drowsy teammates as the Soldier continued his rounds. She really didn't want to get up, but if she missed the meeting Soldier would be on her case all day. One hour of yelling was quite different from twenty-four hours of it. She found herself sitting up, her muscles aching slightly from the previous day's work. She lazily slid her gasmask off her bedside lamp, stifling a yawn before slipping it over her face. She groggily made her way out of bed. There wouldn't be much action this early, even if the Soldier was running around like the human embodiment of an alarm clock. If she hurried she could get in and out of the bathrooms with little hassle. She dragged her comforter with her halfway across the room before finally dropping it at the door.

"Shut yer geggie yeh bloody shtupit yank!" the sun wasn't even up and it was already turning into a shouting match, "Mah heed's poundin' enuf already waeoot yer help, there!"

Pyro opened her door, peering down the hall at her teammates. Soldier stood at Demoman's door, none too happy with the drunken Scotsman.

"IF YOU ARE NOT AT DEBRIEFING, PRIVATE, YOU ARE AWOL. DO YOU HEAR ME?"

"Ah! GONNAE NO DAE THAT?" The Demoman held his head, more than likely hung over from a night of drinking.

"0500 HOURS!" repeated the Soldier.

Pyro took a brave step into the hall, praying she wouldn't be next on Soldier's screaming agenda. "Mmff" she held up a hand to the irritated Demoman as she passed by. He glowered and slammed his door shut.

'Good morning to you too.'

* * *

The locker room wasn't _exactly_ empty, two of the shower stalls were occupied. The Spy was examining himself in the mirror, whether or not he was ever out of uniform was a mystery to everyone. Beside him stood the Sniper, he must have just come out of the shower, wearing only his slacks with a damp towel draped over his shoulder. He was leaned over the sink brushing his teeth, sunglasses set on the counter. It was the only time anyone on the team saw his eyes, the steam in the room preventing him from seeing successfully through the lenses. She couldn't help but smile beneath her mask. Even amongst these murderous men she could pick out the blatant similarities between the girls she used to associate with; just like in high-school, huddled around a mirror applying makeup and checking their outfits.

The Spy's eyes locked onto her from the mirror's reflection. Oh yeah…She almost forgot about last night. "Mff" she greeted her colleagues as she quickened her step. She just wanted to get into a shower.

The Spy turned about fully, leaning back on the counter as he watched the Pyro disappear. Sniper looked up at him in the mirror, toothbrush still in his mouth. He followed the Spy's gaze, turned to look back at the Pyro, then back to the Spy.

"Somefin yer not tellin me there, mate?" he asked, the toothbrush clacking between his teeth.

The Spy didn't answer. His eyes were trained, but unfocused, as if lost in thought.

"Oy," he jabbed the Spy with his elbow. This seemed to do the trick. The Spy blinked, coming to realization, lifted his arm and checked his watch as if it had never happened at all.

"Pardon, but I must get going. I will meet you in ze Intel room."

"Eh? Roight then" he wasn't stupid, but he wouldn't pursue the subject with the Spy. Something was definitely up. Spy had never particularly shown an interest in the Pyro before, unless of course he was avoiding the blasts of fire on the field. Something had happened.

He rinsed, spit and dried his face.

Whether it was an unpleasant altercation or something else he couldn't quite decide on yet. He grabbed his glasses and turned on his reflection. He glanced back at the shower stalls as he approached the wooden cubbies.

* * *

Pyro yanked her mask off once in the safety of the shower stall. The static generated by the motion caused her hair to gravitate upwards with the gasmask. She was quite comfortable even with the men in the room, knowing none of them would peek out of politeness. Plus if they made any motion to, Scout would be quick to label them a faggot. She stripped down and piled her clothes outside the stall, plopping her mask down on the top of it. Still, she'd rather not risk running around in a towel.

She was definitely not one of the girls. She could shower in five minutes and be ready in ten. In war there was no time for dawdling, up and ready in as little time as possible, those were the rules. She showered, dried herself and dressed. By the time she was done the Sniper's place by the sink had been replaced by Medic and Heavy. They must have been the other two in the showers. The Sniper was at his locker, pulling the last of his equipment (his quiver) over his shoulder.

"No, like dis, see," Heavy was meticulously tying the Medic's tie. Over, under, up, down and pull. He tightened the tie around his partner's neck. "There!"

"Danke," the Medic buttoned up his coat, tucking the tie into it.

Pyro wasn't too fond of the Medic. He generally wasn't kindhearted towards her or anyone else for that matter. What he shared with the Heavy Weapon's Guy would not be shared with the rest of the team.

"Leetle Pyro!" Heavy's face lit up, "Ready to crush BLU Team babies?"

"Yuubet" she gave a thumbs up.

The Medic tilted his head towards her, his expression just as stern as it was when he was on the clock.

"Ah, Pyro, I vas vondering vhere you vere."

"Hh?" That couldn't be good, what did the Medic want with her?

"I vas goin through my files, und it vould appear zat you haff not had a visit in ze past couple of months. So I took ze liberty of scheduling you for a checkup zis veekend over ze ceasefire." He produced a note card from his pocket and scribbled the time down on it. "Here," he handed it to her, "I expect to see you bright und early."

"Bhht-" she attempted to protest it.

"Ah-ah, no buts." He waggled a finger at her, "Bright und early!" He made his way past her and out of the bathroom.

"Don't worry, Doctor not bad," Heavy whispered behind the Medic's back. He gave Pyro a hearty pat before bouncing off after his best friend.

"Yhh bhht he lkff yuu," Pyro grumbled, despite the fact her audience had gone. Whatever happiness she had gathered before the briefing had been dashed and replaced with a new feeling of dread (Thanks for that one, Medic). She hated Doctors, no nothing against the Medic, she just didn't like doctors…and needles. And if Medic was giving the examination there were bound to be needles.

"Nuffin ter be nervous about there, mate," Sniper interjected. He held his hat tightly, brushing the dust off its brim. "Medic aint a bad bloke, a bit unconventional yea, but not bad, you'll be fine." He placed the hat atop his head, pressing it down securely. He paused a moment, weighing his next statement. "Is uh…Everyfin alright?" he asked, inclining his head towards her slightly, "Between you an' the Spy?"

Where had that come from? Why would he ask about the Spy? Why would he ask about her well being at all? Sniper wasn't one to get involved with other people's business, especially on the job. A most unwelcomed thought crossed her mind, her heart leaping to her throat. The previous night...The Spy...had he told?

"Whut?" was all she could muster.

"Somefin happen between you two?" He unfolded his sunglasses and slipped them over his eyes.

A good percentage of expression is manifested in the face, thankfully Pyro's was shielded, otherwise the man could easily deduce how worried she was. She took a few breaths to catch up on what she'd lost. Right now she really didn't need another interrogation. One had been more than enough. "I hffnt ffeen fpy fnfe yuftuduy un thuu ffld."

The Sniper stared her down, it was impossible to read if the Pyro was being hones or carefully avoiding the subject. "Roight…" he hesitated. It was true there had been no opportunity for the Spy and Pyro to have any sort of argument, after the battle Spy had disappeared and Pyro had stayed for the "afterparty." Maybe it was nothing after all. "Never mind then, not important." He checked his watch (of all the teammates, he was the only one with a functioning watch). "Soldier's goin' ter have a conniption," he muttered, obviously discontent with the outcome of the questioning, "Mon."

One problem avoided. Pyro breathed a sigh of relief. Other problem-

5:03 a.m.

Not avoided.

Sniper was right. Soldier was going to throw a fit.

She regained composure, gathered her things and tagged along after the Australian.


	11. Part 11

"Alright, MAGGOTS, listen up!" The Intel room was a familiar sight made that much more unfamiliar by the added bodies of all nine classes. The Soldier stood before the group of men, arms folded neatly behind his back as he addressed them. "Yesterday the BLUs caught us with our pants around our ankles!" Void of any chairs the team was forced to take the verbal onslaught standing up. To one corner of the room was a short desk on which the Intelligence case neatly lay. The Spy had claimed the extra desk space as a seat, elegantly perched atop it puffing away at a cigarette. "We will not sit back and take the humility! NO SIR! Today we pants the BLU team like they've never been pantsed before!" The Spy hesitated on his drag.

Snickers of laughter trickled through his audience, the team exchanging amused looks. The Soldier's speeches, though grandeur in expression never quite lived up to the expectations. Sure he could be on to something, but he was quick to snuff out the apparent valor and grace. He stumbled over misconstrued interpretations of "The Art of War" and his own insanity.

"Offense team!"

Those on offense perked up as the Soldier called them.

"You are in charge of retrieving the enemy Intel!" He turned on the wipe board, uncapping a marker and scribbling a crude drawing of the 2fort bases. "You will infiltrate the BLU base here," he pointed to the front entrance, "and here!" he drew an arrow pointing beneath the bridge connecting the two bases. "From these two entrances you will make your way through the BLU base into their Intelligence room where you will CAPTURE the briefcase!" He drew a line as he spoke marking the path they would use to get to the Intel.

The Scout snorted, "Du-uh."

"Scout!" The Soldier's helmet whipped about as he about faced, "Do you have something to add?"

A smug grin played on the young boy's lips "Oh no sir," he mocked, "Go on with your great plan." He held out his hands accentuating the word "great."

The Soldier's mouth twisted into a frown, "You got a better plan, Maggot?"

"Oh yeah, hold on," Scout started, pressing a finger to his mouth. "Uh, let's see hee'a. You already got Offense, so why not have Defense, get this, DEFEND our Intel and uh Snoipes," he pointed to the Australian gentleman, "He can get stabbed in the back a few times."

"Why you little!" The Sniper made for the Scout.

"Quiet down ladies!" Soldier used his shovel as a buffer.

"Hah I'm just sayin' dude, you get backstabbed all the freakin' time!"

"I'm goin' ter bloody kill you," The Sniper made a grab for the Scout over the shovel, but the younger boy hopped backwards, easily avoiding the attack.

Pyro watched the brawl from behind the lenses of her mask, this was ridiculous, she had to wake up and be here at 5:00am to sit and watch her teammates argue. Their "battle plan" was pathetic and with the way the Scout was acting they were going to get nothing done by actual game time. Someone needed to save them.

She tentatively raised her hand.

"Eh?" Soldier looked up, "What is it?" His hands still tightly gripping the shovel held between the two men. The scuffle quieted down and she could feel her team turn to look at her. She never was one for spotlight. Battle plans and speeches weren't her strong point, but no one else had anything productive to add – and she had an idea. It wasn't a great idea, perhaps even a bit crazy – but it was something nonetheless.

"Ihh haff a plnn," she stated.

The Soldier's mouth contorted, the expression reading both of apprehension and intrigue. He straightened, withdrawing his shovel from the now dead brawl. The Sniper and Scout backed off of each other. "Front and center, private!"

Scout chuckled, "Oh this is gunna be good, Matchsticks has a plan."

She brushed off the Scout's comment, approaching their self proclaimed Commanding Officer. He held out a marker to her. Thank God for writing. She knew for certain if she were to rely solely on speech her point would never come across. With "art" and writing she could really express the ideas she held. The marker hovered over the board for a moment as she examined the Soldier's basic scribbles. She dithered for a moment before finally letting the pen touch.

Her teammates watched as she drew out words, lines and arrows, circled points and marked others. "Yuu wannu gut ffe BLU tfeem beck," she narrated as she dotted the "I" in "Intelligence" and circled it with the blue marker "Duu wut thuyur nof exffectun."She scrawled out the word "Offense" and then the word "Defense."

"Duu ffe offosut nd confufe the enumy." She drew two arrows: one from Offense pointing to Defense, the other from Defense to Offense.

"What exactly are you suggesting, Maggot?" Soldier studied the wipe board.

"Whaddayou want us to switch classes?" Scout added, "Dude, I ain't neva seen Defense get da Intel."

"Wull, we'fe nefer giffen thum a chanfe," Pyro pointed with the butt of the marker. "Fink abuut it," She pointed to Engineer, "Whurr wuld yuu put a fentry?"

"Well I reckon in the Intel room," answered the Engineer.

Pyro nodded and marked the spot on the board, "Anywhurr elfe?" she waited, her back turned to her audience and marker poised.

"At the top of the stairs or right in the middle between our Resupply and Intel hallway."

Those as well were marked.

"Fcout, whun yuu run fruu fhe BLU bafe whurr duu fhuy ufually fet fentrief?"

"Man ionno, usually in da Intel room, except dat one time it was at da top 'a da stairs."

The team's expressions lightened with realization as the Pyro marked the board. It was quite obvious that both they and their enemy had become victims of repetition. They had become so comfortable with their tactics that they were beginning to be blatantly obvious and predictable. They had the SAME exact plan. Wrapped up in battle no one seemed to take notice of it blinded by their objective.

"Ah see your point," Engineer mused, a gloved hand to his chin as he contemplated his options.

"Nuune ufef fhe fewuf," Pyro continued, erasing the previous lines Soldier had drawn. "Demumun ufe yur gremudef tu take ouf duu fentry." She marked his path through the sewers, up the stairs and around the entrance towards the second set of stairs that would lead up towards the BLU Battlements, Resupply and Intel room. Atop the diagram of the walkway was the "X" marking a possible spot for a sentry gun. She arched a dotted line into the spots, one line for each possible point of build. Using his grenades, with the proper angle, he could launch them right into the Sentry gun without being spotted.

"Aye. Ne bother."

"Vhat about ze Intelligence?" Medic added.

"We can send you an' tons-a-fun in dere," Scout offered, "He's like a walkin' Sentry gun, put him in da Intel room."

"Zat ist… vhat vould you call it? Crazy?"

"Crazy enough to work," grunted the Soldier, "I like it!" His zeal wasn't shared by the rest of the team, the others a bit disconcerted with the whole idea. "Confuse the enemy, lull them into a false sense of security and then BLAST THEM TO BITS!" He pounded a fist into his palm.

"It may sound fine and dandy in theory, but is it gunna work?" Engineer piped up.

"Whut haff we gut tuu lofe?"

The members each looked around to one another, silently consulting their coworkers, then shrugged. What did they have to lose? They were already ahead in the game by several captures, losing one wasn't going to set them back too far and it was the only plan they had.

"Alright," Engineer nodded, "I'm in."

Scout shrugged, "Could be fun."

"Heavy in for plan."

"Oui, I'm in."

She could feel herself smiling beneath the mask. It was exciting to see her teammates put so much trust into her. At the same time she couldn't help but ponder the possibilities of failure. It was a risky plan, but something like that would really stick in the BLU Team's craw.

"Alright ladies, you heard the plan!" Soldier took over once more as Pyro faded back into the group of red shirts. "Heavy! Medic! You will be stationed here in the Intel room! Make sure no one gets in and no one gets out - alive!" He paused, contemplating what he'd just said, "Unless it's you two! Scout! Distract the enemy! Do not let them get close! Demoman! Assist Engineer in taking out all enemy defenses! Spy! Do you feel up to the challenge of retrieving the enemy intelligence! It will be a dangerous mission! You may be shot! You may be stabbed! You may be blown to itty – bitty – bits! CAN YOU HANDLE IT!"

"Non."

"GOOD! … Wait…What?" The Soldier's steam trickled off as confusion took its place. Spy had…refused? On any other occasion the Spy would have gladly accepted, hell he'd have done it anyway. Why today, then, had he refused the opportunity? Surely he was capable – more than – so why no?

"Non. I Zink ze Pyro should get it."

"Pyro?" Repeated the Soldier a bit unsure of the word as he spoke it. Was that what he had said, that the PYRO should get the Intel?

"Oui. It is 'is plan, 'e should be ze one to retrieve it."

Soldier scratched the back of his neck, "Eh… I guess you are right. Pyro, you will get the enemy Intelligence."

Aw fuck. That was the one thing she didn't want to do. As a Pyro she was listed under offense, she was SUPPOSED to hang back with them, not be the "hero." She felt herself nodding in agreement.

"O.K."

What else could she say? If she attempted to dissuade them now she'd be going against everything she had just spoken up for. The fact that she had to get the Intel was not what was bothering her, rather why the Spy had rejected it himself and passed it to her. Something in her gut told her chivalry was not the reason. Spies were two faced sneaks, so what could this sneak benefit from the Pyro gathering the Intel?

"Then it's settled! Everyone report back at 1000 hours!"

A couple murmurs of agreement and then the team filed out. Pyro stepped away from her light and faded into the masses. It had been the first time in a long time that she'd been instructed to go after the Intelligence. The only difference between then and now was three months ago it was by accident. The teams were in a frenzy, neither really knowing which way was up, who was good and who was bad, and what they were supposed to do. When Pyro had seen the Intelligence case for the first time instinct had told her to grab it and only when the Announcer had stated she'd captured the Intelligence did she know she was right. Of course, she hadn't been aware then that Pyros aren't really meant for Intel retrieval. Scout had mouthed off about it later. She recalled knocking him over the head with the briefcase to shut him up, then cursing him out for a solid minute. Truthfully, in the past three months Pyro had mellowed out quite a bit. The freedom to run and kill was an excellent stress reliever, she couldn't recollect a time before RED where she had felt this good – and she couldn't wait to do it again.

* * *

Spy slid off the edge of the desk, snuffing out his cigarette before making to follow his teammates. The Sniper sidled up next to him. It wasn't odd to see the two together, both recognized each other's space and recognized each other's needs. They knew when to talk and when to shut up. No one else seemed to really understand the solitary men and all other conversation was apparently unwanted.

"I wasn't goin' ter say anything, but it's been bothering me," Sniper was first to speak, following the Spy out of the Intel room, "What two men do in the privacy of their room, well that's their business. Eifer you found somefin out last night or you're a bit light in the loafers." He glanced over at his partner's heavily hidden face, half expecting to elicit some kind of expression from the man, but alas, whatever the Spy was thinking was disguised just as well as he himself.

"I 'ave no idea what you are talking about," casually responded the masked man.

"Don't play dumb wiff me."

No response.

The Australian grabbed the French man's arm, giving him a rough shove into the wall, "Bloody 'ell, I ain't shtupit, I saw you last night." His knuckles whitened under his gloves as he held the other in place. The Spy didn't put up a fight, just stood and took the abuse. His expression was set, not smiling, not frowning, but blank. He stared into the Aussie's face, causing the other to flinch a bit under the pressure. He stood strong for a moment before finally releasing his coworker.

If the Spy was in any kind of pain or discomfort he did well to hide it, straightening his suit and cuffs and paying no mind to the sting (if there was any) in his arm.

"I don't care if yer into blokes or whotever, but if the Administrator finds out you two are doing….whotever it is your doing….you're bohf going ter be fired."

"Monsieur, you 'ave nozing to be worried about. Ze Pyro and I are NOT in a relationship."

"Yer not?" The Australian raised an eyebrow.

"Non. Ze Pyro and I just 'ad a talk."

"Talk?" repeated the man.

"Oui."

"Spoih?" His tone was trying, as if asking "Are you sure?"

"I assure you, mon ami, only talked. Venez, let's eat, we've a long day ahead of us."

_Author's note: Yeah I thought it was a pretty awful plan too. More action REDvBLU coming up and junk :B_


	12. Part 12

_Author's Note: I apologize for the delay on this. I was on a couple weeks long Vacation with no internet and then I started classes again so that all held me up pretty bad ;_; Sorry again for the delay._

Full plate, but no appetite to eat.

Pyro poked at her eggs with her fork, she really didn't feel like eating, her nerves had taken a hold of her and numbed the feelings of hunger. She knew it foolish to ignore her meal, even if she wasn't feeling those pangs of appetite now she'd definitely be feeling them later on the battlefield and a hungry mercenary was slow and useless. She tilted her mask up and robotically lifted fork to mouth. A bit crunchy on the edges, someone had left the eggs in the pan a little too long giving it a crisp underside – she liked them, they went well with her blackened toast.

Breakfast was quick, adding a good chunk of time for Pyro to get her gear together before finally setting off to battle. She deposited her trash in the receptacle and made her way downstairs. Battles were repetitive and you would think by now she had gotten over the thrill of it all; however she still withheld that feeling of excitement. There was nothing better than blasting a hole through your enemy's face. Her hand slid over the railing as she made her way down the stairs. Not only that, but she was getting paid to do it. She wondered for a moment if her team felt the same, she for one wasn't used to being a hired mercenary, but others (like the Sniper for example) had been playing the part for years. The joy and pleasure someone like the Sniper got out of it had probably died down by now, just another routine job, aim shoot and kill, nothing special. To this thought Pyro felt a bit silly, like a rookie on the job eager and ready to work, ignorant to the fact it only gets worse from here. As she stepped off the stairs and made her way to the designated meeting room her mind began to linger back to her day of hire. She found herself occasionally forgetting that she had actually had a life outside of the RED Base, that there was actually a time she wasn't some kind of pyromaniac with a twitchy trigger finger and paranoia of Spies. Before RED she'd never fired a weapon in her life – never killed a man either, not to say though that she hadn't seen her share of bodies. It was funny, not in a humorous way, but ironic way, working at the fortress had completely reshaped her identity - she could barely recall her own name.

The locker room was already starting to fill with people, everyone suiting up for the fight, strapping on their equipment and grabbing ample ammunition. She knelt beside her oxygen tank, checking its gauge before pulling it up on her back. Unlike some of her comrades she couldn't carry too many weapons, she had to decide early what she wanted to use, I mean, carrying a Fire Axe, Flamethrower, Flame Thrower, Axtinguisher and Homewreckerwas over the top and burdensome. She settled on the Homewrecker, Flare Gun and Flamethrower, while the Scout foolishly picked up all he could carry.

"**Mission begins in sixty seconds." **

Scout swiveled his head up to Pyro, "Ready t'do dis?" he asked, cocky smile creasing his lips.

As ready as she'd ever be.

She adjusted the tank on her back, rolling her shoulders, letting the strap slide snug into the crook of her shoulder. She could feel the tingle of adrenaline rushing through her body, nerves putting her on edge, ready to beat some faces in, not so ready for possible failure.

"**Mission begins in thirty seconds."**

"Boy ain't you got enough?" Engineer clucked.

"Ey whaddayou know?" Scout retorted, he readied himself at the gate - which resembled more of a garage door, only the switch to open it was somewhere out of sight with their administrator.

Pyro tilted her torch up taking up stance beside Scout. Something awful hung in her gut, could it be instinct? She brushed it off with the hype. Nothing bad ever happened on base, how could it? The only thing they had to fear was death, and if there was no such thing as dying here – then what was there to fear? She drew in a confident breath and straightened herself as best she could, tightly gripping her weapon's handle.

"**Mission begins in ten seconds."**

Now came the countdown, antsy figures ready at the gates, itching to get out and fight - everyone ready for a bloodbath. Eight seconds – five – three -

"**ONE." **

The game had begun. The team sprinted forth, Scout taking the lead (obviously) and Heavy brought up the rear. Medic scurried along after his massive friend, Medigun trained. Engineer hefted his equipment to point. Sniper staked out in whatever safety he could. Pyro broke from the group and backtracked through the base, splashing down into the sewers.

"Groff," she grumbled to herself. Though it was called a sewer it didn't much represent one save for the tube like paths and water, it was relatively clean, both water and smell. The gross part was the fact that her suit was wet and now sticking to her legs, water seeping into her boots and soaking her socks. She could almost hear them "squish" as she waded through.

The tunnels shuddered with rocket blasts, the ground muffling the sound of gunfire. Pyro was the only color present, bright red contrasting brightly against the dulled metal. She quickly shuffled below the 2Fort Bridge, above her a BLU Heavy and RED Scout fought it out. Scout's brash comments bouncing off the Heavy's bulky exterior, he threw fists back instead of words. The RED Fire starter pushed through hurriedly, making it into the opposing team's channel unnoticed. Fire and Water didn't mix, so naturally no one expected the missing Pyro to be trudging along the waterways. She stopped at the enemy stairwell, letting the water settle about her allowing the silence she needed to hear. On any other occasion it would have been near impossible for her to hear, listening for a Pyro was like trying to decipher one's speech, a difficult task. On the battlefield, however, it was much easier, everyone was yelling to one another, no one was silent – no one but Spies. She strained her ears, listening carefully. No beeps or clicks, no whirring of teleporters, no thundering of footsteps, no obnoxious comments from an enemy Scout. She carefully pulled herself from the water and climbed the stairs.

She definitely wasn't adept to this sneaking job, a walking Red target, it seemed nearly impossible for her to maneuver through the base without being spotted. '_I need to learn to not open my mouth_,' she thought bitterly on her own battle plans. It wasn't the first time it had gotten her into trouble. She held her breath as if doing so prevented her from being visible, taking careful steps through the base. She stopped abruptly and pulled herself against a wall. A Red suited teammate rounded the corner. Demoman. She breathed a sigh of relief and peeled herself from the wall. She hadn't recalled him following through the sewers, then again she couldn't very well hear through her gasmask.

"Jeezo, Pyro? Ah didnae see yetheer. What yadain?" He seemed just as startled as she.

"Ntul," Pyro pointed a gloved finger down the hall.

"Right right," Demoman shifted the weight of his Grenade Launcher, "Ahm aboot tae put Engie ina huff. Geesamoment, Ahmma clear it oot fae yeh."

Pyro gave an understanding nod and the Demoman took off up and about the stairs.

"KABLOOEY!"

Not long after were his jeers followed by the sounds of exploding Sentries and Dispensers. Somewhere in the distance the Engineer mourned the loss of his machines, "Sentry down!"

The fire starter followed after her teammate, sneaking through the halls and carefully avoiding the other team. Things were looking good, the plan was going off without a hitch and now Pyro was making her way down into the BLU Team's Intel room. But that was the problem – things were going too good.

She turned into the Intel room, there was no need to be on the lookout for Sentries, Demoman had already taken care of that. She surveyed the environment from behind thick lenses, making her way up to the desk at the corner of the room. Atop it sat the Intel, completely unprotected, just waiting to be snagged. She had to be quick, grab it and go, but as soon as she placed a hand on its lid:

_WHACK!_

Instinct had her turn around, brain taking a moment to process she'd just been struck in the back with a baseball bat. The BLU Scout stood triumphantly behind her, bat raised, arrogant smirk plastered across his face.

"Surprise," he taunted, waggling his bat as if to say 'Hi.' He swung it out again. Pyro made to dodge the attack, but found her back to disobey, a sharp pain jolting up her spine causing her to take the blow head on. Her skull resounded with a hard _CRACK, _she heard it loud and clear, felt it in her teeth, her vision blurring for a moment. As soon as she'd been struck she knew she would be down for the count. She hit the floor next, struggling for some kind of consciousness. The Scout knelt over, tilting his head awkwardly to the side looking down at Pyro,

"Yanno, ya ain't very good at plannin," he sneered, "Maybe ya should just stick ta walkin' an burnin," he straightened and kicked the enemy in the gut. "See ya later chucklefucks!" he laughed.

The injured RED teammate lay still for a moment, her vision going in and out, piercing ringing in her ears and a throbbing headache. She could feel the sticky liquid seeping from the split in her skull. She pulled her helmet off and tossed it away from her. She breathed in shallow gulps, holding a hand to her head, the deep gash oozing blood. She bit her lip, but nothing would mask the pain. '_Little shit, why didn't he finish me?_' the thought lasted only a moment, her head only allowing a solid stream of thought for a moment or less. Rather than full out kill her, Scout had left her with a head and back injury, she wouldn't be able to respawn only crawl around on the floor. '_This hurts…like hell_,' She woozily attempted to get to her feet, '_Pain…wet…socks soaked still…gross…Wish - had taken - socks off before hand…Fuck._' For a moment they (her feet) held her and then, she pitched forward, the world slipping out from under her feet. She didn't collide with the floor again, however, this time she hit something soft…it was – Nothing? She blinked hard, focusing on the empty spot that held her, the darkness was cutting in though, stealing the world from her view, she struggled to stay awake as a familiar RED suit came into vision, fading in through a cloud of smoke. It had been the Spy who caught her. "S-Spy?" she asked, her head pressed against his chest, blurred sight attempting pathetically to arrange a face. She felt a heavy weight drop from her as the mysterious man removed her oxygen tank.

"Oui." His voice was hushed as he pulled her arm around his neck and lifted her from the ground.

"I'm sorry," she muttered closing her eyes. If she had had the strength she would have fought the gesture, claimed herself well enough to continue on unassisted, but this was real life and real life sucked. She let the darkness take her, the ringing like a lullaby, the pain so unbearable she couldn't even tell it was there. "I got blood on your suit." Everything was far away now, if Spy had spoken to her she hadn't heard, if anyone shot at them she didn't feel it.

_Wait…what did Scout say…_

Nothingness. She was officially out of the game.


	13. Part 13

"_Hey, Red, you got something in the mail." The young brunette handed over the document envelope. It was blank except for the handwriting in the upper corner addressing it to the home. There was no stamp, no postal mark, whoever had sent it had dropped it off themselves. _

"_Who's it from?" she asked. _

_Pyro, lovingly nicknamed 'Red' by her roommate, accepted the letter and unpinned the flap. She slipped the file out from within."Don't know," she shrugged jokingly, "Probably junk mail, another credit card company trying to get me to sign up." Her brow furrowed as the bright RED Logo caught her eye. "Reliable Excavation and Demolition." Odd. She'd never even heard of the place, nor did she need excavation or demolition work done – why would they be sending her a file? She took the paperwork into the other room, subconsciously guiding herself along the floors of the shared apartment. _

"_What is it?"came her roommate's voice._

_She ignored the question and settled into the familiar red loveseat, flipping through the paperwork. It was an offer to hire, but…she hadn't applied, the finely printed lettering however, contested that notion. Whoever had sent the letter knew all about her, where she worked, where she lived - to say the least it was downright creepy. It was as if she'd been sucked into the Matrix. A cell phone would fall out of the envelope next followed by a phone call from some unknown man. She'd look up and her roommate would be an Agent. Her instructions – Run. Why? Because that guy has a gun. Awesome gunfight ensues and she finds out she's The One._

_Awesome._

_Down the rabbit hole we go._

_She skimmed through the letter, pulling her legs up onto the couch and crossing them. It was funny how the letter addressed her as "Pyro." Then again, she did work with fire and that's exactly what they wanted her for. It was an incredible offer, presenting a once in a lifetime opportunity to make a handsome amount of cash, more than she'd ever make in said lifetime – two lifetimes! A chance to put her skills to work, to make some impressive dough, an adventure, meet new people, explore new places, all the great things you could only dream of. _

_The prospect of The One came to mind again. _

_This Reliable Excavation and Demolition (or simply RED) thing was a team, not a credit card company – and they wanted her. No way it could be real. Could it? She'd always heard news on scams like this, propositions of business that turn awry, but this … it didn't seem like any scam she'd ever heard of and it definitely wasn't worded like one. Despite her skepticism, she was deeply intrigued. _

_THWACK! _

"_Hey aintcha listenin?" the brown haired girl laughed, playfully knocking Pyro upside the head with the stack of mail. "Whatcha got?" _

* * *

Ugh, it hurt. Everything ached. Pyro rolled her head to the side, attempting to smother the headache out in the soft pillow. Consciousness had returned, the soft sounds of clicks and beeps making it to her ears. She didn't want to open her eyes just yet. What exactly had happened? She couldn't quite recall it in its entirety. '_Start simple_,' she told herself.

_Who was she?_

_Easy: Pyro_

Where was she?

Again, easy: on Base

_What was she last doing?_

_Getting ready for a capture battle._

Good.

_What happened?_

That…was a little more tough. She had had a plan – they followed it – she got the Intel … right?

She winced as a pang ran through her mind, scrambling her thoughts. No, she hadn't gotten the Intel…that's right; the BLU Scout had gotten _her_.

She drew a hand up to her head, running it over the back. Wait a second – then…

Pyro sat bolt upright, only realizing the foolishness of the maneuver after it had been executed. Her head swam at the sudden movement and her back stiffened. She was sore only on the left side, the aches running deep into her muscle; no doubt she had a bruise.

"Ah, gut, you are avake."

She blinked against the hospital lights, letting her eyes focus on her surroundings. The world was clear, too clear, her hand still clutched the back of her head. No mask. That's right she had taken it off after getting smashed in the head. Her eyes snapped to the left, locking onto the Medic's well composed figure. He was busy fiddling with a machine.

"Zat vas ze most impressive head vound I have seen yet." He didn't care to look up, but his sadistic grin was evident.

'_Glad you enjoyed it so much,' _There was no spot of stitching that she could feel, more than likely the doc had just used his Medigun to pull it all back together. Unfortunately it did nothing for headaches. She mentally mimicked her back's stiffness realizing the Medic had seen her. How much of her exactly? She sank into the hospital bed, pulling the sheets up shyly and looking down. She could see her toes – great – her eyes moved up her figure, already knowing she didn't have pants on (well of course not she never wore them in suit). She was pleased to find she still wore the plain black sports shorts, her shirt however, was a different story: Johnny Coat. She really didn't want to come out from under the covers – definitely not now.

"I had to cut your hair to get to it, however." She lowered the sheets, the doctor turned to look at her. There was a bitter taste to the words, but what exactly he was thinking Pyro couldn't be sure. His cold eyes reflected absolutely nothing. The sternness in tone and expression could have just been related to the inconvenience of the matter – or – to the fact that _she_ was in fact, a she.

Cut her hair? Well that must have been why it felt so rough. Indeed Medic had given it a good hack job. It was significantly shorter now, a botched pixie cut, not too feminine and not too manly. The haircut gave him a good view of what he was working with without having to completely buzz her head. She had to be thankful for that, even if the medical scissors had left the ends jagged and split. Eh, she never really was into the whole girly thing anyway.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the Medic beat her to it. "I also took it upon myself to fill in ze empty spots on your file," he seemed pleased, having finally discovered all he could medically, proud of the fact he had gotten by at least one of the secretive members' defenses.

If she could have sunk back any lower into the cot she would have. She brought the sheets up to her chest, gripping them tightly between whitening knuckles. She didn't want to hear it. "Did we win?" she asked, wedging her voice in past his and diverting this humiliation bound train in another direction. The Medic paused, his eyes drifting to the side. Immediately, Pyro had her answer.

"Nein," the tone made her wince, she played it off as pain. Was he accusing her? He shifted to her bedside and removed the sheets, "Get up," he instructed. Despite a sour tone, he gingerly helped her to her feet. The fact that they had lost didn't exactly sit right with the fire starter, it had her plan, hence, her fault. Begrudgingly she got to her feet. Her back had a most attractive bruise down its left side, a brilliant yellow and green that stung like hell. It was a lucky shot, her tank had shifted to the side when she bent to grab the Intel, giving Scout a clear opening for a hit. It was enough to stun her – and they all saw how effective that was.

He turned her around and examined her back. She felt the heat rise in her ears as she bit her lip in embarrassment, eyes focused on the opposite wall. It was incredibly uncomfortable. She had done all she could to avoid any type of examination by the doc, yet somehow she still managed to end up under his scrutinizing gaze. He was cold and unfeeling, the stern, accusing expression causing her to look away on all occasions. He had eyes that pierced through all cover, be it glasses or gasmasks. Now Pyro was forced to face him head on with the now revealed truth of her femininity. He pressed a gloved hand to the bruise and she felt herself jump. That warmth in her face was replaced by an uncomfortable prickling and cold, emanating first from the point of impact, then moving up her neck and prodding its way into her brain. It was a routine procedure, one most commonly associated with a physical checkup, the tracing of fingers along the spine to assure its correct curvature. This time though he was feeling for fracture. Of course there had been none, she wouldn't have been able to stand had there been, but the doctor was thorough and wanted to be sure.

"Can you touch your toes?"

"Fuck you." She didn't exactly catch herself before the words slipped out.

The German doctor chuckled, "Zere vill be a bit of stiffness, but I don't zink it ist anyzing serious." He made a gesture with his hand, indicating the bed. He helped her crawl back in. There was no point in making her do it, he could tell from her clambering into bed that the possibilities of a slipped disc or any other drastic injury were slight.

Pyro crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her sights back to that intimidating stare. It was odd looking at him without her cover, odd knowing he knew what she was. Did he care? He didn't seem to. She cared though – it made her skin crawl. After all, who had dressed her?

"What about my head?" she asked.

"Zat ist a different story, you von't be fighting for a couple of days."

"W-what?" she was about to argue the matter, but the Medic waved her comments off.

"A head injury ist nozing to play vith. You vill require rest - und no buts, f_räulein _," he cut her off before she could get a word in edgewise, the first sound of the letter 'b' barely making it off her tongue.

She grit her teeth, "Fine." She jammed herself back into the pillow in the best interpretation of discontent she could muster. Not a good idea, the soft body of the cushion jabbed into the contusion along her shoulder blade and muscles. The doctor smirked at the crease of pain on her face. Maybe he was right, not in a concern of health, but towards the team's status. Look what her plans had brought them – failure. Maybe if she stayed out of it they would do better. What credit was she anyway? Like the Scouts kept telling her – Walk and burn.

"I vill tell ze ozers you are avake."

'_Great.'_


	14. Part 14

This was definitely not how she had pictured her day, lying in bed being guarded by an angry German Doctor. Definitely no. She was supposed to be fighting with her team, getting Intelligence, beating the BLU team to pulp, not the other way around. She sank into the newly uncomfortable medical bed, staring dejectedly out at the bland cabinets and walls. She wondered how badly her team hated her at that moment, would anyone really care if she was ok or would they find it some kind of righteous punishment. She closed her eyes, pulling the blanket up over her head. Worse now even was the fact Medic knew who she was and if he knew, who else did? She had been unconscious for the trip to this makeshift ER, whether or not the Spy saw to it to keep her hidden was a mystery- much like everything about his actions. Oh how she wished she could just sink right through the bed, slip away unnoticed through the springs and the floorboards, drift away into that nothingness. She felt a delightful tug, a gentle lead into the dark, maybe she was slipping away – nope…that was just sleep. It wasn't a fitful sleep either, not the kind with vivid dreams that wrapped you up and stole you away from the world, separated you from reality. No, it was one of those conscious, half-sleep states, never truly falling all the way down that rabbit hole, constantly perking up at every slight sound, drawing forth from empty nothingness. Every so often the creek of the floor or the beeps of the machines would bring her back around, though she never opened her eyes or removed the covers. She lay there with eyes closed, lazily listening and drifting back and forth through wakefulness and sleep. Today hadn't gone exactly to plan.

* * *

This was definitely not how he pictured his day. Everything had gone according to plan until that Scout had to mess with the Pyro. Where the hell did he even come from anyway? The Spy thoughtfully wandered the halls, one hand in his pocket, the other pinching a cigarette between fingers. He saw the kid run in after the fire starter and so, behind the veil of the invisibility cloak he had followed him in, leaving the Pyro as a distraction.

"Yanno, ya ain't very good at plannin, maybe ya should just stick ta walkin' an burnin!" that's what the Scout had said, right before he brought his bat down hard across the girl's skull. Even the Spy had to cringe at the sound. With barely the thought of an intruding Spy, the bat wielding member took off, without so much as an uneasy glance. He had even brushed against the Spy (only slightly) upon his exit - he hadn't cared enough to check. Scouts never did.

Something odd happened to the Spy then. He had an opportunity to grab the case, to win the game, every bit of him said to grab the Intel and get out, but there was just one strand of being that piped up within him. Could he morally allow himself to leave his teammate there? He couldn't exactly say he cared if she died (I mean she'd just respawn later, right?), but there was something pathetic about the way she attempted to proceed - some stupid, utterly foolish action that warranted the Spy's respect. After getting cracked over the skull she still tried to go on. She had guts, no brains, but guts. He had dug his teeth into the end of the cigarette and stooped, catching the girl before she pitched into the ground. He detested himself for doing it, eyes locked on the briefcase knowing he could have had it, knowing he could have won this "game." No, he had to be the noble man and save this…girl.

He exhaled a toxic cloud, letting the haze drift about his masked face. He had dropped the Pyro off in the infirmary several hours ago. The Medic shooed him away in haste, shouting that his moving her could have injured her quite more severely. That was that, after Pyro was safely stowed away to his care, Spy heard nothing more. He couldn't honestly say he had cared (could he?), he'd a lot more on his mind at the time. The Scout had let slip a bit of information he shouldn't have known, "Ya ain't very good at planning." How would the opposing team's Scout know that the Pyro had concocted the plan? It was exactly what the Spy was busying himself with. BLU wasn't playing fair, not yesterday and not today.

He casually lifted his wrist to check his watch.

"Yo, any word on the Pyro?"

He brushed his sleeve back over the gadget, "Non." Stop bringing her up!

Scout looked up to the much taller French man,"Doc won't let anyone in da room." He clutched a ball in his hands, passing it between them in thoughtful procession, "Hey! How fucked up is his face? Gotta be gross, I bet it's all Phantom of the Opera unda that mask."

It was a shock to see the Scout actually knew something about literature, he didn't exactly look like the type to read a book or watch a play. Somehow he knew the Phantom though, enough to relate the two. How surprising. Spy allowed a small passage of time which the Scout interpreted it as a reprimand. Perhaps he was out of line? After all, Pyro _was_ in the "hospital," maybe now wasn't exactly the right time for that? He looked intensely at the ball in his hand, allowing his cap to cover his eyes. He contemplated his next statement, if only slightly, he never really was one for censorship.

"Yanno, you coulda grabbed da Intel," he frowned, ceasing the repetitive tossing of the ball. He took a moment to swivel his head back up to the sneak, "Ya ain't goin' all faggy on us are ya?" True, ever since the man had figured out Pyro's secret he'd been acting a bit out of character, not an obvious difference in everyday life, but slight enough for the vigilant to pick up on. Wait – Scout was vigilant?

"You would 'ave let your teammate go for a game?"

"Nah man that ain't what I'm sayin. Dude, rememba dat time Heavy an' I was dukin' it out, he punched me out, an like yeah I coulda taken him down, but I was tired and I had the sun in my eyes, but dat ain't da point. You just laughed, man you didn't even stop."

"Everyone laughed."

"Ok yeah – wait everyone laughed? Man dat ain't cool."

A smug smile creased the French man's lips.

"My point is," Scout pressed on, "YOU'RE da one dat let's teammates go for a game. Man ya do it all da time. All uffa sudden you're getting' all homo an' shit. I mean da Intel was right there," he reached out as if the briefcase was right in front of him.

Spy's eyes lingered on the empty spot the Scout indicated. He couldn't exactly answer. The cigarette slowly smoldered away, a steady stream of smoke drifting towards the empty ceiling, twisting and turning in simplistic designs. This was the first time he threw a game away – and for what? It had always been every man (or woman in Pyro's case) for themselves, why all of a sudden had the rules changed?

"_If I show you, you'll think differently…"_

"_You have to promise…"_

Pyro was a girl – that's why. He was breaking a promise… How could he not have a different view of her and…Why did that bother him so much?

"Ze Pyro 'elped me once so I was simply returning ze favour."

It seemed like a legitimate answer and the Scout appeared to accept it, if not a bit chary. Spies were liars by nature, but Scouts were ignorant by their own.

"Alright, cool, s'long as you ain't goin' all soft on us."He popped the ball into the air again, "Imma go see what's f'dinna, lemme know what the Doc says." The runner took off down the hall, just like any other day, no walk or jog, always a full out run. What was the rush? The French agent inhaled a breath off the cigarette. It was like he hadn't taken a breath in ages as he filled his lungs to the brim with smoke. He couldn't keep his head straight, why had the Scout's dialogue provoked these feelings, these prodding thoughts he had hoped to keep tucked away. He was a Spy, an enemy to friend and foe, a no strings attached relationship – why suddenly was he being strangled by those very strings? At first the pull had been subtle, if it had existed at all, but now he was being dragged under, entwined in a sudden sort of affection for the red headed girl. Admiration? Friendship? Love? Actions he knew and expertly falsified, but couldn't understand.

He maneuvered his way through the halls and into their designated sitting room. A square room donned with a set of comfortable couches and recliners, a decent television, billiards table and piano. The TV and couches brandished the blunt of the team's attention, while other forms of entertainment (like the piano) sat unused. He couldn't say he often visited the room, occasionally he'd stood up to the Sniper's challenge of billiards, but more often than not he was holed up in either his room or the Intel room. The Spy settled himself into one of the chairs, elbow resting on knee as he held his cigarette over the coffee table's ash tray.

What the hell was happening to him? This wasn't how a Spy acted, this was how a teenager did – and he hadn't been one in god knows how long.

"Somezing on your mind, Monsieur?"

The lone gentleman jerked his head up at the familiar accent. The room was empty, save for his own presence. Spies knew better than anyone, looks could be deceiving. He carefully interpreted his surroundings, waiting for the glimmer of a silhouette.

It didn't take long to find it.

"Bonsoir, Bleu."

* * *

Pyro bitterly opened her eyes, unsure of time, unsure of whether or not the doc had returned. She stare up at the white sheets pressed against her face, gently rising and falling with her breathing, the heat of her breath collecting in the fabric at her nose.

She allowed a moment to pass, simply laying there listening to the machines talk amongst one another in beeps and clicks, vibrations of her teammates passing in the hall, the sounds of the Scout's voice as he chewed out the doctor for some indiscernible reason. The moment was up. There was no reason she should have to sit around in bed if she wasn't getting rest anyway, plus – she really had to pee. She pulled the sheets down, greeted by an empty room; at least she wouldn't have to deal with the Medic's incessant nagging to get back in bed and rest. She dragged herself out of bed, her shoulders and back stiff from immobility and bruising. Getting dressed was a difficult task, the bending and twisting associated with it irritated her injury, causing it to once again flare up. She fought into her sports bra and top, bent and pulled her suit up. She was pleased to find her suit had actually been washed, her socks too, like new no longer sticking to her feet as she pressed them into the soles of her heavy boots. There was one thing missing however – her gasmask. She rubbed where the Scout had blindsided her, unable to pinpoint the exact location of injury, though the pressure in her skull gave a good enough approximation. The mask was excellent protection against fires, not so much baseball bats. In the moment, the Spy had probably disregarded the helmet and just carried her off. She'd just have to be extra careful then.

Mission begins in 10 seconds – get to the Bathroom.

She poked her head out of the infirmary, looking first left than right. Completely empty. She shuffled hurriedly to the bathrooms.

Success! Oh if only the jobs were that simple.

She gave herself a start when she caught herself in the reflection. Hands running under cold water she warily eyed her own self. It was as if she expected herself to transform, the face she was looking at seemingly not her own. The second-rate haircut actually worked well. She turned her head, eyeing herself from several angles. It actually made her look a bit more boyish, though the girlish facial structure decreased her age a bit. Supposing no one else had seen her, this whole charade could continue, as long as no one peeked beneath her uniform. Her eyes drifted to the side, catching the reflection of the clock in the mirror. 9:00pm. That couldn't be right…could it? That would mean she'd been unconscious for…She took a moment to count the time..For roughly eight hours. She groaned and her stomach rumbled in response. Being in the medical bay with the Medic (and only the Medic) wasn't exactly an appealing thought, might as well look for food next.

She bravely stepped into the hall, the first time in ages without a mask. It didn't look much different, perhaps a bit brighter and now she could actually see out of her peripherals. Everyone else must have already disappeared to the dining hall, the rooms and corridors devoid of any life. A expertly hidden Sentry gun steadily turned its nose left and right, keeping an eye out for intruders. Its beeping echoed the halls coupled with the footsteps of the young pyro.

"What are you doing 'ere?"

"Ohhh, can't come visit?"

Pyro hesitated, casting a questioning look to her environment. She followed the voices on tiptoes.

"Non."

A laugh.

"What do you want, Bleu?"

She stopped at the doorway of the lounge. She braved a peek in, catching a very quick glimpse of two near identical men: one in blue and one in red. The…Spies? She withdrew back into the hall, leaning her weight against the wall, hoping she hadn't been spotted and praying her heartbeat wouldn't give her away. She held a hand over her mouth to stifle her breathing, listening over the pounding in her ears as the two men conversed.

A click, the sound most commonly associated with the opening of the Spy's cigarette case. "Monsieur, please, zere is no need. I am 'ere to talk. Zat is all."

Pyro lowered her hand and watched the wall opposite her, painting her own vision on its blank surfaced as she listened in. Suddenly she had become the Spy, eavesdropping on people's conversations, sneaking about unnoticed. She didn't like the BLU Spy at all, his snide comments and cocky attitude really bit into her nerves. In addition to being a full circle jerk, he was on the opposing team. Enemy Spy in her base? What else was a Pyro to do?

She suppressed the urge to attack. What would she do anyway? She'd run in there and throw a punch? Sure she had smashed the Scout's nose up pretty good, but this was a Spy, there was a big difference between classes and her punches weren't exactly the strongest. Even if she decided to go with that plan, the moment she stepped in the Spy would cloak and run, that or strike from behind. Either way the plan was bound to fail. All she could do was stand by and watch. She gathered her nerve and cautiously poked her head in once more.

"Oh?" The RED had gotten to his feet, directing his pistol at his BLU counterpart, "Aven't exactly been playing fair. You can thank your Scout for zat."

The BLU Spy smirked.

"S'il vous plaît, Monsieur, if I was going to do somezing, I would 'ave." He shrugged it off, taking a breath from the cigarette held loosely between his lips.

A snort of riposte from her own team member.

The BLU Spy's eyes lingered over the top of his masked friend's head. He frowned and immediately Pyro drew her head back. _'Shit, he saw me! He saw me!' _She pressed back against the wall, gripping at the beating in her chest. She couldn't be sure he had seen her from this distance, but at the same time, couldn't be positive he hadn't. The soft tapping of the Spy's brand name shoes floated up to her ears, his shadow dragging across the floor and up the wall. Pyro stole away from the scene just as the form of her own Sniper poked his head out of the room. A disguise. But the Pyro was already gone.

The Sniper swiveled his head this way and that. He was certain he had spotted a flash of red, a "peeping tom," a wannabe Spy. Someone had been listening he was sure. "Gotter be quick 'ere mate," Warily he turned his back on the hall. After all, who was going to backstab him? All the Spies were present. "I 'ave a proposition for ye."

"I am not negotiating with you."

"You might want ter reconsider that there, mate. Might not be in the sheila's best interest."

* * *

Where was she going? She didn't quite know herself, but she had to keep moving, lest the Spies catch wind of her presence (any more than they already had). She turned a corner and smacked into something solid. Her back ached as she fell back on her rear, the object she'd bumped mimicking the motion. Her head reeled, sickeningly spinning. She raised a hand to it, holding it in efforts to still the images. A most familiar loud and obnoxious voice mixed with her jumbled up vision.

"What da hell man! Watch where you're...goin?"

The Scout.


	15. Part 15

_A/N: So, so, so sorry for dropping out. I've had this chapter sitting on my computer for the past couple of months. I'm going to try like hell not to disappear again and get this story moving some more. Thank you to all who reviewed, stayed with me, favourited and so on! Much love!_

* * *

She knew before she even hit the ground that the impact was going to be bad, but even as she braced herself for the collision nothing could stifle the intense pain that shot through her nervous system when her body met the floor. That moment of pain and shock dragged on, the seconds it was to the Scout were hours to the writhing Pyro. She bit her lip hard, gnashing teeth together in a pathetic attempt at keeping herself from crying out. Her head swam, the room spinning like a Merry-Go-Round out of control. It made her sick and it wasn't just an illusion. She rolled on her side, unable to force herself to her feet, the pain stiffing her entire body. The Scout watched as she turned, curling knees into herself in an obvious display of upset before his teammate threw up all over the pristine floor.

"Aww, gross!" he complained, screwing his nose up in obvious disgust.

She hated to admit it, but maybe the Medic was right. Only a few hours in that room and she had already gotten stir crazy – and where did it leave her? Curled up on the floor next to a puddle of her own regurgitated bile. "Yeah, you're not the one tasting it," a poor attempt at humor, anything to mask the embarrassment of puking up in front of her teammate. She managed to uncurl herself, dragging herself weakly to her feet. She could feel the other's eyes on her, like a vulture sizing up its prey. No one had ever, EVER seen the Pyro's face and for the first time in the history of their careers, they saw one another for who they really were. No masks.

"What?" she snapped. Even having just vomited up everything she'd eaten in the day, she snapped back quicker than a rubber band. But the quickness in retort only caused another shock of pain to her already throbbing head.

"Uh, well, yanno," the usual energy in the Scout seemed to dissipate through the floor. It was the first time she had ever seen him look so utterly lost. If she hadn't known any better she would have thought someone had just ruined Christmas for him. He scratched an itch an itch just out of sight, hidden by the body of his ear, his hat tilting from back to front with the motion. "You...Uh...Medic said you was better..." he stated simply, as if it were any excuse for the way he acted.

If he called throwing up all over the place better – then yes, yes she was much better!

"Help me get to the bathroom," she grumbled, holding out an arm for Scout to scoot under. "Yeah, yeah Ok, just don't get all faggy on me or nuttin," with little protest, the runner sidled up beside the fire starter, allowing her to lean on his shoulder. It was the first time she had ever seen him slow down to help someone other than himself. She was glad it was him though, she would much rather the obnoxious jawing of the Scout to someone like the Sniper. Her skin crawled at the thought. He would have figured it out right away, nothing got past the Sniper. He was trained to look and when he did, he _saw_.

"You ain't wearin' your mask." If he kept this Detective work up he could very well be the next Columbo. She offered a small snort of a reply. Pyro wasn't necessarily a quiet person, but without the protection of her beloved gasmask she was at an incredible danger of being found out. On the other hand, had she been wearing the gasmask just moments earlier she'd be floating around in her own spit up. The thought had her mentally gagging.

"I think I left it behind during the fight," she couldn't recall for certain if that's where her mask was. It seemed like a legitimate bet, but she couldn't quell the spinning in her head, her timeline of data a jumbled mess of events with no particular rhythm or rhyme. Her stomach dropped at the thought of battle, feeling the brunt of the blame resting on her shoulders. Or perhaps the weight was just that of the incredible bruise. Her head dropped, eyes watching her thick boots take one step at a time. Amazingly the Scout had slowed his usual brisk pace to match the uncomfortable ambling of the Pyro.

"Man that sucks."

"No shit."

"What happened anyway?"

"What did Medic tell you?"

"That you caught one upside da head."

"That medical terminology?" she managed a small smile and a snort of laughter, "Ya, fucking Scout cracked me over the head with a bat. Still hurts like a bitch." She didn't have to look to know the Scout was grinning, despite the work being of an enemy Scout, he always reveled in the accomplishments of his class. And that's exactly why she didn't want to look – of all the people to be knocked out by it_ had_ to be the Scout. Pathetic. A fist to the head from a Heavy would have been more acceptable, hell, even getting knocked out by the brunt of a Soldier's shovel…Ok, maybe not that. Still, she wasn't about to flaunt about her injuries. Her free hand rose to her head, rubbing at the sore curvature, hoping in some way her touch would ease the pain. Unfortunately the rubber of the gloves only helped to generate a bit of static electricity through her short hair, the broken strands sticking up comically. "We lost?" The question she so eagerly sought to avoid, seeped forth from her, as if the Medic's admission held no value with her.

"Yeaa..." he sounded positively dejected. For the second time the fire starter felt her stomach flip on itself, that queasiness returning in its depths, rising to the back of her throat. Her one chance to shine and she had let her entire team down. It wasn't like any of their previous plans had failed before, but this was _her _plan. Her free hand slapped to her mouth, covering the portal of exit in an efforts to keep back whatever food remained in her system.

"Aw! You ain't gunna hork are you?"

"Just get me to the goddamn bathroom," she grumbled between the spacing in those mitts.

The trek back to the bathroom was a short one, by the time they made it Pyro was able to stand on her own two feet, hobbling up to the sink basin to clean out the sour taste in her mouth. Fortunately for the Scout, the urge to vomit for a second time never fully played out. She leaned heavily into the porcelain, assuring that if her head decided to take another swim she wouldn't fall over so easily. She swished, spit, brushed and repeated, obtaining the freshest she possibly could. Scout, in the meantime, lazily leaned against the metal cubicles, hawking his teammate's every move. She wasn't exactly worried about his scrutiny, she had a better chance of winning the lotto than having the Scout find out "Holy crap, I'm workin' widda girl!" But the constant surveillance was making her a slight bit uncomfortable and annoyed. How ironic, the kid who so annoyed the team with his constant prattle, annoyed her just as much in silence. No matter what he did, he was a nuisance. Regardless of his help, the way he eyed her up caused her skin to prickle, his silence uncanny and unfamiliar. It was what he was thinking that made her nervous – no matter how hard she tried to decipher it through small glimpses in the mirror, she couldn't read that set expression.

She gave her toothbrush a wave, tapping its head on the edge of the basin to free it of the excess water. She allowed him a moment's inspection before interrupting his train of thought. She couldn't help the inquiry, already knowing the answer to her question, "What happened with Spy?" She wondered if in the hours of her unconscious state, had the masked man identified her to the others? Had any of the other teammates witnessed his underhanded conference with the enemy?

The Scout shrugged, touching his shoulder to headset, "I dunno man, he just kinda dumped you on Medic an' left. He looked kinda pissed." It wasn't an exactly helpful observation, generally the Spies tended to look quite irritated, expressions as bare as a stone's face hiding the pulp of their personality. But, she did interfere with his plans to capture the Intel, had she not gotten her brains splattered all over the floor he would have been free to lift the suitcase. Because of her blunder he was left empty handed and his usual pristine red, pinstriped suit was left dripping with blood. If there was one thing the Spy hated in the world, it was a dirty suit. She couldn't blame him for dumping her on their German practitioner, after all, what did she expect? For him to stay by her side, hold her hand, bring her flowers? That was all bullshit, left for phony romances. This was war where workplace relationships formed out of necessity, not out of desire and they never included such emotion as "love." The Spy helped her because he felt obligated as a teammate, not because he cared. Then again – would a concerned teammate be sneaking visits with the opposing color's masked anonymity?

In the moment of their collision she had nearly forgotten the two Spies. She had been so wrapped up in the pain and nausea brought along with it, that all unimportant data that had nothing to do with either feeling, was tossed out the window. Upon a clear moment of reflection she was able to recall the incident. Half of her wanted to believe she had been mistaken, hallucinating from head trauma, mistaken the man for someone else on the team, but the rational side of her knew what she had saw. He was a liar and a double-crosser. Ok, maybe that was a little harsh, maybe there was something she was missing…or maybe the prior still stood.

"Yanno, you ain't really what I expected."

Pyro cocked an eyebrow to the Scout's reflection.

"Nah, nah man! It's just, yer da Pyro, figured you was all like, monster movie under there, like Freddy or some shit," he made a claw gesture with his hand.

The fire starter slipped the hand towel from its rack and dried her mouth, clearing any excess toothpaste that had fled to the corners of her lips. With a flick of her wrist she discarded the piece into the pile before the laundry chute. "I don't typically go shoving my head into lit fires, so no. I'm just as normal as you. Sorry to disappoint." She paused a moment, weighing her words before she continued, "Ey, Scout…did any of the team…seem off tonight? Uh..After the match?"

The ball player thought for a moment, well, maybe a fraction of a second, but for a Scout that was an incredible amount of time to give up to thought – "Nah, well, cept the Spy, but he's been weird for the past coupla nights. Pissier than usual, if that's possible. I know you guys ain't get along, being like mortal enemies and shit, but you do something to piss him off? Other than, yanno, getting knocked the fuck out?"

Well, she had "come out of the gas mask" to the agent, but she couldn't flat out admit that to the Scout. Even if she did, she doubted his intelligence would put two and two together, with the mediocre haircut she no longer retained much of that femininity in her face. "Don't know…I think I'm gunna head back before Medic figures out I'm gone." Initially she had had her mind (and stomach) set on food, but the thought of it now just made her want to barf more. Not to mention all the risks: Medic would no doubt be in the café eating along with everyone else. The prior meant getting yelled at for near two hours in a thick heavy accent and the latter, well, not many of the others were as thick headed as the Scout.

"Need help?"

Pyro shook her head no, "I'm alright. Thanks, man." She had barely made it to the bathroom doorway when she realized the answer to her own question. Of all the people acting funny in the base, she hadn't thought…about the very one she was talking to.

The Scout.


End file.
